Stubborn Love
by Thoughtful Constellations
Summary: After the fall of SHIELD, Clint and Natasha go to the one safe place in the world left for them. There on Clint's family farm, they must figure out who they are and how they fit into the world outside of an organization they thought had turned them around. This isn't a story about their past. This is a story about their present. A story about their future. (Part III of Compromised)
1. Travel

**Welcome to Part III of my Compromised series! This story follows what Clint and Natasha do after the fall of SHIELD in Captain America: The Winter Soldier, and I think I'll be doing a different take on what I think happens. I haven't seen anyone else write anything similar to what I'm planning, so that's a good thing!**

**If you're a returning reader sticking along for the ride, yay! If you're a brand new reader jumping on, the first two stories are _Girl, Compromised_ and _Hawkeye, Compromised_. Technically, you probably wouldn't have to read them in order to read this, but it'd definitely help.  
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**For extra emotions, listen to "Welcome Home" - Radical Face. As an important side note, the theme for this entire fic is the song, "Stubborn Love" - The Lumineers, so keep that in mind as you read.**

**Alright. Let me know what you think of this very first chapter! Reviews keep me motivated!**

**Enjoy! =)**

**(Mad shoutout to blizzardphoenix on Tumblr for creating the icon for this fic!)**

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><p>Chapter One<p>

Clint was perched on a fire escape with his bow and a nocked arrow in his hands when he got the call. At first, he thought about ignoring his vibrating phone because, well, he was working a goddamn mission, and his mark was about to pass by at any second. If he didn't take this guy down, that meant another two weeks of trying to weasel out new information about him and where he was headed next. But when Clint checked his phone and saw RESTRICTED flash across the screen, he decided to take the call. Only one person would show up as RESTRICTED, and it would only be for one reason.

"I'm working a mission," he said into the phone, careful to keep his voice low.

"The weather's overwhelming," Natasha said back. Clint froze as he heard her say established code words he never thought he'd hear.

"What?" he asked quietly.

"I'm guessing you haven't seen the news over the past few days. It's bad," Natasha said. Clint looked down at the bow in his hand and processed her words.

"I'll be at the Dallas airport by 3:00," he finally said.

"Don't bother calling for a taxi," Natasha replied. Again, Clint was quiet.

"Alright." Without waiting for a response, he hung up. He didn't need Natasha to confirm that she would be at the Dallas airport—he just knew she would be. The thought crossed his mind to wait just a few more minutes to take out his mark, but Natasha had said the code words—she'd said the words they'd agreed upon years ago for, "This is the biggest possible emergency. Drop everything, and get safe."

Furthermore, she'd told him through their cryptic speech not to call for SHIELD transportation to the airport. Something was wrong, and he had no idea what it was. Even though he wanted to stay and complete his mission, he turned and left to go back to his hotel and pack up what little stuff he'd brought with him. Thankfully, the archer hadn't brought much with him. The mission had only required for about four days' worth of clothes, and that was exactly what he'd brought, being the light traveler that he was.

As he silently walked away from the fire escape and started on his way to the hotel, he wondered what the hell had actually happened.

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><p>It didn't take him long to find out. As soon as he entered the lobby of the hotel, the footage was everywhere. He didn't stay to take in too much of everything since he had a plane to catch, and he had a cover to maintain, but what he learned in those few short minutes in the lobby was enough. SHIELD was gone, Captain America was missing, and Black Widow had mouthed off to some high profile senators. Clint wished that he could find it in himself to be annoyed with Natasha for being such a smartass, but if anything, he just felt proud.<p>

The journey from taxi to airport to ticket booth was simple and easy, and despite the fact that Clint's cover's credit card was now out by $1,000 due to the last minute plane ticket purchase, everything was ok. Clint feigned patience as he waited in the airport security line, and then he put on a good show of detached disinterest when he walked to his gate and stared up at the news station blaring on the TV.

"—about superheroes? Who are they going to answer to? What are the implications of them running free now? All this time we thought SHIELD was here to protect us, but it turns out that there was a Nazi group growing inside them," one of the anchors said, a passionately patriotic expression on her face. "I think it's time that we demand answers. Two of the Avengers were involved in this event, and I don't think that they should get away with it."

_Natasha_, Clint thought.

"But Captain Rogers and Black Widow are to be _thanked_," another anchor argued with annoyance. "They revealed the truth about HYDRA and warned the people about them. Black Widow and Captain Rogers were looking out for us, so we could know the truth."

"But the cost of everything," a third anchor jumped in. "The cost of trying to clean up the Potomac and the Triskelion is going to be astronomical. Also, who do you think paid for those to be built? The civilians. Our tax money went to waste when Captain America destroyed those helicarriers. Billions of dollars—maybe even trillions if they got Stark involved—just gone. For nothing."

"But are we forgetting the fact that they literally saved the world again?" the middle anchor argued back, frowning. "Without them, HYDRA would still be growing, and we could be dead. Look at all of the information Black Widow spilled. That's the _truth_, guys. That's what HYDRA was planning on doing this entire time, and she and Captain Rogers stopped it. You can hold them accountable all you want, but they saved us."

Clint closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose as he breathed deeply and slowly. So that was what had happened. He knew that there was probably more to the story, more than the news understood or had had time to process, but Natasha would be able to tell him. From what he was able to gather just then, she had leaked everything online. Everything.

He took another deep breath and tried to make sense of it all with no luck. Basically everything he'd worked for had been for nothing. His entire conversion to SHIELD had been a sham, and his missions had all just been part of an elaborate practical joke. God, he'd practically wooed Natasha to SHIELD with the slogan, "Be SHIELD. We're the good guys." He couldn't have been more wrong, he realized.

He numbly boarded the plane and chose a seat, spending the short flight in silence, even after the young college student whose hair smelled like coconut chose to sit next to him and smile nonstop in his direction. He looked out the window and watched the sky rush by, and he counted down the minutes until he was with what was apparently the one reliable thing in his life just then.

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><p>When Clint stepped off the plane, he wasn't surprised to see Natasha already waiting at his gate. She was dressed in black jeans, a smart denim button down, black riding boots, and a black baseball cap with her red hair in a ponytail. She looked casual and comfortable, so very Natasha but so not all at the same time. Clint should have felt happy to see her, excited at being reunited with her, but he just felt grim. Right there in front of everyone, he crossed directly towards her and hugged her. He wanted to hug her and hug her and hug her until he couldn't hug her enough, but they were in a vulnerable position with where they were, so he just kissed her on the top of her head and pulled back.<p>

"Hey," she greeted. "So we're in Dallas. How you liking being back in Texas?"

"Oh, stop," Clint snorted, but he gave her a smile. Natasha's eyes darted away from his face with that rapid fluidity they had only whenever she was being overly alert about the prospect of being caught. He noticed that she was holding a large duffel bag in her hand, and he lifted his eyebrows as he realized that it was a cat carrier, and Noelle, the cat he and Natasha had had for several years now, was inside. "Noelle. You have Noelle."

"Yeah," she said nonchalantly. "Walk with me. Our flight leaves in an hour, and we have to get to our gate."

Leave it to Natasha to have a plan, he thought with a second glance towards the stressed out cat, who was staring pitifully at him from inside her carrier.

"Ok," he said. As he started walking beside her, letting her lead the way, he glanced over her. "You ok? You good?"

"Yeah," she replied without looking back. "You?"

"Yeah," he said. "So where are we going?"

"The only place we can." She looked up at him with questioning green eyes as if she were waiting for him to veto the idea. Clint knew exactly where she was talking about, and he would have been lying had he said that he hadn't been thinking about suggesting it. So when she gave him the look that showed she was waiting for some kind of response, he gave a short nod in return.

"Transportation from the airport?"

"Taxi. We can take care of getting a car while we're there in the state," Natasha answered without hesitation. He wasn't surprised that she had this all figured out; she was Natasha. She corrected Fury's plans when she thought that her way was better, and usually, she was right. "Here."

She shifted Noelle's carrier over her shoulder as reached into her large shoulder bag to pull out a burgundy baseball cap. When she turned back to face him, Clint went ahead and ducked his head down far enough for her to set it over his dark blond hair. Yep. She always thought of everything, he thought.

"Thanks," he said. "But isn't this undercover stuff kind of pointless? Since everyone knows who we are now?"

"If airport officials know we're here, we're going to be detained by hours of questioning," she said. "Might as well try to blend in as much as possible and get away while we can."

"Who are you today?" Clint asked curiously. When Natasha didn't answer right away, he looked over at her and found her staring straight ahead as she walked, her face drawn together in a tight, worrisome frown. She pressed her lips together and then looked at him with that same expression pasted over her features.

"I don't know," she murmured, and he knew she wasn't talking about her cover.

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><p>Clint had about 900 different questions for her but not the correct timing or setting, so he had to force himself to be patient as he waited through the flight, the taxi ride, the car purchase—which was a nightmare in and of itself—and then the start of the GPS directions before it was ok to talk. Clint knew how to get where he was going from here without the GPS, but there was something about having that extra sound in the car that he needed. Noelle was in the backseat, and Natasha was in the front seat, but between the three of them, no one was making much sound.<p>

"Alright," Natasha said finally after Clint eased out and onto the highway. "So. I know you have a lot of questions."

"Understatement," Clint agreed.

"I know you have a lot of statements."

"Not quite yet but getting there."

"How much do you know about what's happened?"

"SHIELD is actually HYDRA, Alexander Pierce is dead, Fury is dead, Rogers is missing, flying man is a new possible ally, all of SHIELD's secrets have been spilled to the world courtesy of Black Widow, and Congress is pretty annoyed with you right now," Clint said. She lifted her eyebrows, and he shot her a smirk from behind the steering wheel as he drove down the straight highway. "I had about an hour before my flight to Dallas. I got to watch the news. They had the captions on."

"Well, buckle up, Barton, because this is going to be one hell of a story." Natasha pulled her feet out of her shoes and shoved her feet up onto the dash as she slouched down into the passenger's seat. Steve Rogers might have told her to take her feet of the dash, but Clint Barton never did.

"No questions until the story's over?"

"Them's the rules."

She told the story quick and to the point, never glossing over any details or trying to be sensitive about anything. She talked, and he listened and tried to stay focused on not running them off the road while she spoke each deliberate word. He listened to her talk about how Sam Wilson had gone from stranger to friend. He listened to Fury's death and subsequent "resurrection." He listened to the reveal about the Winter Soldier, remembering the mission Natasha had been shot on, and she'd insisted that it had been the Winter Soldier. He'd believed her, but not many others had. But he listened, and she talked until there were no more stories left to tell. When she was done, and he could speak, he let out a slow breath, makinga hissing sound with his mouth.

"Jesus," he murmured in shock. "Well. I guess it's the biggest understatement of the century to say that we're fucked."

"I'm sorry I had to compromise you, by the way," she added with a glance in his direction. "All your covers…everything."

"No, you did the right thing." Out of his peripherals, Clint could see her studying him, a quiet frown ghosting over her sharp, angled features.

"The right thing," she repeated, her voice soft and thoughtful. "What does that even mean anymore?"

"Good question." Clint felt the corners of his own mouth start to fall down. "Shit. So what does this mean for us? Who else knows about Fury?"

"Well, no one knows about Fury. Rogers, Wilson, and me. And now you. But I suspect that if Fury had a problem with you knowing, he wouldn't have let _me _know. As for what all of this means for us…I don't know. We're not exactly SHIELD agents anymore, but there's no way we're HYDRA agents. Not technically." She looked away on the last part of her statement, studying the windows and the world that lay out past them.

She'd felt homeless plenty of times in her younger years, but she hadn't felt that deep, lonesome ache in her chest in years. As she looked out the window, she found herself feeling, well, homeless. Not attached to anything. She felt as though she were a buoy, completely ungrounded and free and not in a good way. What if a wave came, and she were to drown? There was nothing for her to hang onto.

"So we're free agents for now, I guess," Clint said carefully, sounding as unsure of himself as she felt.

"Have you gotten a chance to look over the stuff I leaked?" she asked.

"No, not yet. I figured I'd do that once we were safe and secure," Clint replied. "Sounds like that's weeks' worth of stuff to sort through, if not months'."

"I've had some time to scroll through a few of the important files," Natasha said. She could tell by the way Clint looked away from the road in front of them to look at her that she'd grabbed his attention with her tone the way she'd wanted to. "There's something I think you'll want to know. Well, there are a _lot _of things I think you'll want to know. But some in particular."

"Nat?" Clint's frowned deepened. Natasha propped her elbow up on the edge in front of the window and leaned her head into the heel of her palm to avoid looking at him.

"Coulson's alive," she said. Without waiting another second, Clint swerved over to the side of the road and slammed his hand against the hazards. The only sound that filled the small car was the sound of the lights flashing on and off. "I thought you'd want to know."

"How the—what?" Clint turned his entire body in his seat to face her. "He's—Nat, we went to his funeral."

"Well, he's alive," Natasha said. She kept her voice steady and level, and she only took small glances at him. "I know. I'm angry, too."

"Whose idea was it that we weren't supposed to know? _Dammit_." Clint slammed his hand against the steering wheel and let out a frustrated sigh.

"Fury." Natasha said, her voice a dull monotone. She watched him rub his eyes with the back of his hand. "He kept it top secret. Basically only three people knew that it was happening, but now he's running his own team. SHIELD was just damn good at keeping us out of the loop."

"How long?" Clint asked, his voice tense and tight.

"Since New York, I guess. I don't know. Just from what I was able to skim over. But it makes sense with everything we've had going on for the past few years. Have you noticed we haven't had any in-country missions since New York? Not a single one. Strict orders to talk to our handlers only. Wouldn't surprise me if we were monitored." She sounded as if she were speaking with someone else's voice, but Clint didn't seem to notice as he processed the information she'd just told him.

"What the _hell_," he hissed. He ran a hand over his face and gritted his teeth, the anger and frustration etched deep into the worry lines of his face.

"Doesn't it make sense?" Natasha asked. "Even on our solo missions, we've always been out of the country. I bet if I track where Coulson's been taking his team, I'll find that we were assigned somewhere on the opposite side of the globe. Ten bucks says SHIELD sent us somewhere we wouldn't hear about it."

"Why would they do that?" Clint asked. "I'm sorry, but we're a damn good team, and we weren't just—just Coulson's _agents_. For Christ's sake, he was—he was our friend."

"I know." Natasha took her feet off the dash and curled them up under her, suddenly wanting to feel as small and compact as possible. She wrapped her arms around her knees and looked across at Clint. "I thought you'd want to know as soon as there was an opportunity to tell you."

Clint was quiet for a few seconds, and then he took a deep breath. "I don't think I can handle any more bombshells like that until we're stationary."

"I'll keep that in mind," Natasha said, recognizing the dry, very slight sense of humor in Clint's words. She watched him take in another deep breath before composing him, switching off the hazards, and easing back onto the virtually empty highway. "But yeah. That's where we are with all of this…whatever it is that's happening."

"I'm still trying to get past the fact that HYDRA wasn't destroyed with the Red Skull," Clint murmured. "This is…a lot. There's way too much going on. Hey, what about Rogers? Where'd he go?"

"If I know him, he's off to find Barnes. Wilson probably went with him." Natasha didn't release her arms from around her knees. "Other than that, I don't know anything. I figured if he needed anything, he'd call. But he won't."

"He won't," Clint agreed. "I don't think Rogers is the call-for-help kind of guy."

"And I think he found a much-needed friend in Wilson," Natasha said. She paused and then blinked. "Oh, yeah, I kissed him."

"Wilson?" Clint asked casually as if they were discussing what to have for dinner later. Natasha felt his sharp, curious blue eyes on her face, and she shook her head.

"No. Steve. That jackass Rumlow was about to pass by us when he was trying to hunt us down, and you know how PDA makes people uncomfortable, so I kissed Steve to keep our cover," she said, her voice nonchalant. Clint considered this, and then he shrugged.

"Huh. Was he good?" he asked. He shot another genuinely curious glance in Natasha's direction and watched her half-nod, half-shrug.

"Not bad for a 95 year old," Natasha said with a serious face. "He'd be very good if he had someone to actually practice with, though."

"So I'm a better kisser," Clint concluded. He was rewarded by a genuine smile from the redheaded spy, and he watched her mouth melt into a soft, warm smile.

"Keep telling yourself that," she scoffed with an eye roll.

"Hey, come on. Can you blame me if I want to be better at _something_ than Captain America? The guy's golden boy. You've said it yourself," Clint said, smirking. Natasha pressed her lips together, suddenly becoming serious, and she shook her head slightly.

"Not anymore," she said. "People aren't sure if he's a good guy or a bad guy right now with the destruction of those expensive helicarriers and the Triskelion. They're blaming it on him instead of HYDRA."

"And you," Clint added. Natasha let out a groan and leaned her head back against the headrest.

"Don't remind me. You saw the clip from my hearing?" she asked. Clint chuckled quietly.

"Oh, yeah," he said. "That was playing all over the airport TV, and all I could think was of how fucking proud I am of you." Natasha went still at his words and redirected her gaze towards him, watching him drive. He noticed her silence and took another glance at her, only to find her looking at him with those quiet, green eyes of hers. "What?"

"I love you," she said. The moment was gentle and unforced as they sat together in the car, Clint driving and Natasha going along with the flow because that was the only thing she _could _do at that time. Clint reached out and put a hand on her bent knee. "I've missed you."

"Feels like I haven't seen you in a month," Clint softly added.

"Well, that's kind of what it's been. A few hours passing each other and switching out dirty clothes for clean clothes between missions doesn't exactly count as spending time together." Natasha ran her fingers over his, looking down at his large hand spread over her knee. He never touched her possessively or as if he were claiming her—instead, he touched her as if it were a privilege for him. She couldn't ever remember a time when he'd touched her differently, and that probably said more about him and their relationship than it did about any lack of feelings or passion for her.

Clint was respectful. Even after close to a decade of being together, he was respectful in everything he did. He always knocked and waited for permission before charging into the bathroom if she was in there. He never touched her whenever he thought that she might not want it, and he never tried anything that he even _suspected_ she'd be uncomfortable with. He always waited for a cue from her before proceeding with anything. He just respected her in everything he did, and she never knew how to thank him enough.

"Well, now that we're here more or less, there's nothing but you and me," he said reassuringly as he gave her knee a light, comforting squeeze. "At least there's that."

Natasha wrapped her fingers around his a little tighter and tried not to feel as though she were clinging onto him as the one steady thing in her life. "Yeah. At least there's that."


	2. Focus

**Shoutouts to pengineer, princessjoey630, Black Betty, kissmyquiver, Ealasaid Una, BlackHawk's Child, Rosay Chere Khann, josmi1351, ivory-sword, AmeliaSkellig, CreativeDreamer98, MaddieFayeth96, Guest, and Guest for reviewing!**

**Wow, thank you all for such positive initial reactions! That means so much to me. So whether you're a returning reader or jumping on the boat for this first time, thank you! Just as a heads up, I'm still sticking to my Monday and Thursday update schedule, in case I forgot to mention that!**

**For extra emotions, listen to "Head Full of Doubt/Road Full of Promise" - The Avett Brothers =)**

**As always, keep letting me know what you think! Reviews keep me motivated and on the go!**

**Enjoy! =)**

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><p>Chapter 2<p>

Natasha recognized the quiet road Clint turned down as they began to reach the end of their retreat into solitude. She craned her neck to get a good look around at the place, studying every detail to see if it looked the same. Sure enough, even though she hadn't seen it in two years, everything looked unchanged. The exact same as when she'd last been there, though honestly, Natasha felt like she needed that kind of familiarity just then.

When Clint pulled to a stop, Natasha had her seatbelt off and the door open in record timing. She felt Clint's curious eyes on her as she just short of scrambled to get out of the confining car. Standing still, she took in a deep breath of fresh air and noticed the change in herself. Typically, out of the two of them, Clint was the one who needed open space and tons of fresh air while she was the one who liked to be in small, compact places, but for whatever reason, she couldn't stand sitting in that car one more second. She leaned against the vehicle and looked around her, taking in everything.

She'd only been on Clint's farm once two years ago. They'd stayed there for a short amount of time, and truthfully, they'd both been a little too fucked up to get out and do too much. She'd been recovering from a bullet wound, and he'd been working on getting himself back in once piece after Loki. During the month that they'd spent hiding from SHIELD and working on themselves, they'd been too busy paying attention to each other and what was going on inside to focus on the actual location itself. As she looked around, she realized that she was actually kind of excited to get to know this place that Clint had kept so secret for so long.

"You good?" Clint asked. Natasha nodded without glancing back at him. She heard him shut the car door and then open the back door to get Noelle out.

"The grass is cut," Natasha pointed out. She looked around the front yard with a small frown on her face.

"Yeah," Clint agreed, giving nothing away in his tone. "It is."

She turned around to face him. "Do you have people who cut your grass?"

He walked around to the trunk and gave a noncommittal shrug, again not glancing at her or giving any clues on his face. "Kind of. I have people who look after the place when I'm not here. Might as well keep it up and running."

"How long have you had this farm?" Natasha asked. She'd asked him back when he'd brought her here for the first time, and he'd brushed it off the way he'd brushed off every question about the farm. He gave a small smile and shrugged.

"I don't know. Years," he said. "Too many to count."

"Years as in, since you've known me or before you knew me?" Natasha asked.

"Before," he answered without a second's hesitation. She crossed back to the trunk and pulled out her own duffel bag, slinging it over her shoulder as Clint closed the trunk with the hand that wasn't holding Noelle's carrier.

"How'd you get it?" she asked. He gave her a wry smile.

"You're full of questions," he remarked.

"There are a lot of questions and not enough answers these days," she replied. Clint started walking towards the large older house, and she followed beside him

"True," he admitted. His blue eyes drifted up to the house and scanned over it, as if he were trying to find its weak spot. "It just kind of came into my possession. Long story."

That was Clint Barton code for he didn't really want to talk about it, so Natasha kept her mouth shut and waited for him to unlock the door to the house. As she walked through the door, she breathed in the somewhat familiar smell. She'd lived here for a month—granted, she'd spent most of that time upstairs in the bedroom while healing, but in a way, the farm was kind of like another home to her. Her eyes drifted over to Clint, and it hit her that actually, it didn't matter where she was because place didn't signify home. At least not to her.

"Any chance you've got food here?" she asked hopefully. Clint grinned, the first playful smile she'd seen from him in a few hours, and she smiled back.

"Unfortunately, no," he replied. "We'll have to go in to town to get food." He set Noelle's carrier down and opened the door for her to come out. "Also a litter box and cat food for this one."

"Right," Natasha agreed. "Definitely don't want her shitting all over the place."

Clint let out a short bark of a laugh, and she found herself smiling again at the sound of it. For the past month, they hadn't exactly been _apart _from each other per se; they'd just been assigned so many missions back to back that the most they'd seen of each other had been several hours in passing or at the most, a day and a half to catch up as best as they could. She'd missed his laugh and his easy optimism around their apartment, always brightening everything up, even when he was kind of grumpy and sleepy in the mornings.

"Yeah, that wouldn't be good," he said.

"Should we go now?" Natasha asked.

"Are you hungry?" Clint knelt down to pet Noelle, who looked grateful to be freed from her prison-carrier.

"Talking to me or the cat?" Natasha asked with a smirk. He glanced up at her.

"You, smartass," he said. "I'm asking so we'll know if we want to take a bit of a breather here for a few minutes or if we want to just head out and get going to town."

Natasha watched Noelle rub against Clint's hand, and she listened to the loud rumbling purr. "How long's the drive?"

"Fifteen minutes," Clint said with assured confidence. He stood up and put his hands on his hips, squinting his eyes as he examined the house. "I should probably get some stuff to repair a few of the things around here."

"Clint Barton. Sharpshooter, SHIELD agent, former circus boy, Avenger…handyman," Natasha announced dramatically. Clint tried to look annoyed, but he couldn't hide the smile creeping up and over his features.

"Ha ha, very cute," he said. He looked back at her and started to say something when he paused. Natasha knew what he was looking at, and she didn't try to hide it. Instead, she just stood there with her arms at her side and her face open as she watched his expression. He nodded towards her. "You're wearing your necklace."

"Yeah. I had it in Washington D.C. with me." She didn't elaborate on it any more. He redirected his gaze to her face and stared curiously.

"You don't wear personal jewelry," he pointed out. "At least not when you're out working a job."

"I figured…why not?" She folded her arms over her chest and looked up at him. "I trust Steve. The team knows, anyway."

"Oh, you _trust _Rogers now?" Clint lifted his eyebrows in surprise. Natasha couldn't tell if he were mad, annoyed, or just surprised in general. "Work several missions with him, kiss him, and he's Steve?"

"You're an ass," Natasha said without actually meaning it, and she knew he knew she didn't mean it, too. He cracked another small grin at her.

"Former KGB and America's favorite. You've always worked well with him before, but what happened, Nat? Why do you suddenly trust him?" Clint wasn't jealous. He wasn't the jealous type, nor did he actually believe that Natasha would do anything. He had faith in Natasha for a reason, and even if he didn't—which was impossible for him—he knew Rogers enough to know that the guy would never step in on someone who was already with someone else.

"Well…" Natasha frowned as she thought back over the experiences she'd had. "He saved my life. He…talked to me when I needed someone to talk to. And he doesn't judge. He may seem like he does since he's all old-fashioned-hot-shot, but…he doesn't. He's just really good at listening."

"Yeah?" Clint prompted, knowing that there was still more. Natasha looked down at the wooden floor beneath her feet, and she noticed all the worn scrapes there that had existed probably for years and years before she'd ever set foot inside.

"He didn't trust me, either," she said. "Not at least before this mission. We had each other's backs because we were on STRIKE together, but we both came through for the other. I backed him when I could have turned him in to SHIELD, and he risked his life for me. So."

"He's a good guy," Clint replied.

"Not the greatest kisser…but a good guy," Natasha agreed, watching Clint's mouth break into another smile. "He has potential. Lot of potential."

"Don't try to make me jealous, Romanoff. I don't like my women petty," Clint warned.

She crossed towards him and placed her hands lightly on his hips as she stepped in to him. "Maybe I want you to be jealous just so you'll kiss me and erase all thoughts of Steve Rogers ever—"

Clint cut her off by lowering his mouth to hers and kissing her deeply. She closed her eyes at the feel of his hands on her lower back, reveling in being back underneath his hands. She could have kept kissing him for longer, but he reluctantly broke the kiss off. Resting his forehead against hers, he watched her green eyes merge into one from how close he was. "Thinking about Rogers now?"

"Steve Rogers who?" Natasha asked with an innocent blink of her eyes, making Clint laugh.

"That's more like it," he said. "Want to take your stuff upstairs, and then we can go head out and get some stuff for this place?"

"Ok," she replied. "Hopefully Noelle doesn't take a shit while we're gone."

"We'll be back soon, kitty cat," Clint said softly to the grey cat, who was now staring suspiciously at the two of them as if she knew that they were planning on leaving her soon. "I promise."

Natasha walked up the narrow stairs to the bedroom she and Clint had taken over back during their first stay here. The stairs looked the same, the older walls had no more dust or scuffs than they'd had last time, and the smell was still the same. Natasha and Clint had changed throughout the years, but it appeared that this house had remained constant and unchanging. She wasn't sure if she liked it or hated it.

She reached the top of the stairs and turned down the hallway to go to the bedroom, Clint right behind her. She passed through the doorway and into the bedroom. Just like the rest of the house, there wasn't a thing different about it. Suddenly feeling the exhaustion of the past few days catching up to her, she tossed her duffel bag onto the floor and toppled onto the bed with a loud sigh.

"Actually, what do you say to a 10 minute nap, and then once we're rested and re-charged, we go," she murmured. She heard Clint set down his own duffel bag before collapsing on top of the bed on the other side, and she opened her eyes to look at him.

"I could get on board with that," he said. "It's been a long few days."

"Ok. Ten minute nap. That's like, a night's rest for a spy," Natasha replied. Clint checked his phone and nodded.

"Mmhmm," he agreed. "Ten minutes."

"Ten minutes."

* * *

><p>Natasha dreamed of snakes whose heads grew back the more she tried to cut them off. She dreamed of Steve making out with Lillian and saying, "Hey, would you mind taking your lip piercing out? It's scraping my mouth. That'd be swell." She dreamed of Alexander Pierce holding onto her necklace and smiling.<p>

"Budapest," he said as he ran his thumb over the pointy arrow.

She dreamed of Nick Fury going on a rant about something to do with stupidity and trust. It wasn't until she dreamed of Clint telling her in a quiet voice to wake up that she realized everything was a dream. With a sharp jerk, she opened her eyes and found Clint standing above her. He always knew better than to touch her as a way to wake her up, and she was grateful for it just then by the way she'd woken up so abruptly.

"Whoa. Hey," he said. "Bad dream?"

"I…shit, has it only been 10 minutes?" Natasha stifled a yawn and pushed herself into a sit, stretching her muscles as she did so. Her shoulder burned, and she winced.

"Try three hours," Clint replied. She looked at him with horror.

"What?" she asked.

"Three hours," Clint repeated. "You've been sleeping for three hours."

"Shit," she hissed. "I said 10 minutes, Clint."

"Yeah, well, shoot me for not wanting to wake you up. I went downtown and picked up some stuff," he said. He saw her incredulous expression and rolled his eyes. "Don't look at me like that. I can go grocery shopping without you and not die."

"But—"

"Nat, this is Iowa. Everything's organic here," he said, knowing exactly what she was going to say before she could even start her protest. She stared at him for a few seconds and then narrowed her eyes as he lifted his eyebrows up. "How's that shoulder?"

"What?" she asked. He shot her a mild glance and nodded towards her shoulder as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Your shoulder," he repeated. "Come on—I know you got shot. You're moving the way you do whenever you've got a shoulder injury. I know your tendencies, Romanoff."

Natasha pressed her lips together and glanced down at it, shrugging with the good side of her shoulder. "Not bad. Been worse, been better."

"How'd you get it?" Clint asked.

"The Winter Soldier," she replied. "Snagged me in the shoulder when I was running from him in D.C."

"Get him back?" Clint asked.

"Cracked his goggles. If he hadn't been wearing them, I would have shot him through the eye. Though I think Steve would have been mad at me for killing his best friend since it's Barnes. Technically, it's _not _Barnes, but it _is _Barnes," she said. She watched Clint react to her statement, knowing he was thinking of himself and Loki from a couple years ago. "Though I shot his goggles out before he shot me, so if anything, he was getting _me _back."

"Want to keep me company while I make dinner?" Clint asked suddenly. "I'm starving."

Natasha gave an appreciative nod and got up to walk with him down the stairs. She reached up and smoothed a hand over her ponytail, wincing at how out of place it felt. She pulled the hair band out and slid it onto her wrist as she worked at redoing her ponytail. Clint glanced behind him and saw her messing with her hair.

"Digging the hair, by the way," he said. "That's new. Since when have you had straight hair?"

"Since two weeks ago," Natasha replied with a smirk. "So you like the straight hair?"

"I like you with any hair. Or without hair. You'd be pretty cool if you shaved your head, too," Clint said. Natasha rolled her eyes but didn't answer. She walked down the stairs and into the kitchen with him, noticing Noelle in the corner eating cat food out of what appeared to be—she sighed.

"Oh, Clint, you put her cat food in a mug?" she asked. "_And _her water?"

"I wasn't about to spend money on a dish. Look. She's happy. Doesn't know the difference," Clint said dismissively. Natasha frowned but didn't argue. Instead, she just crossed to the counter and hopped up on it, lithe and weightless as she turned herself around to watch Clint prepare dinner.

"Tell me about your month," she says. "What missions have you been pulling?"

Clint pauses, and he half-glances over his shoulder as he starts cutting some kind of vegetables up. "You know, I was just about to say that I couldn't tell you because it was classified, but…I guess that's not really an acceptable answer anymore, is it?"

"I can always just read the files I leaked. Wouldn't take me long to find them," Natasha replied. She caught the edges of Clint's smile, and he shook his head.

"No, I'll just tell you," he said. "Probably would have told you more than I should have even before SHIELD went shit, anyway. Um…let's see…I've been to Bangladesh, Bali, few places throughout the U.S., and then I was in Mexico City when I got your phone call. Just running completely un-connected assignments. In and out in no time."

"Hill was handling you?" Natasha asked, frowning.

"Not for the last few weeks. Funny enough, it was Sitwell," he said. Natasha's eyes widened, and she sighed out loud.

"Right," she said. "Of course he'd send you off right as Insight was about to go down."

"Separate STRIKE Team: Delta. With us apart from each other, he knew he stood a better chance of his dumb plans being thwarted," Clint remarked. Natasha coolly lifted her red eyebrows.

"He was helping orchestrate the slaughter of billions of people across the globe, and you refer to it as a 'dumb plan,'" she deadpanned.

"Well, it wasn't a smart plan," Clint countered, raising his voice as he started chopping the vegetables a little more quickly. "It wasn't all that smart for him to keep two Avengers around in the first place. You and Rogers? Please, there was no way Insight was going to get more than a couple feet of the ground."

"Try several hundred feet," Natasha said. Clint let out a snort at that, but he didn't say anything else. "So…we need to figure out a plan."

"A plan," Clint repeated. He set a pan on the stove top and started the burner to get it heating up before he dropped in a generous square of butter.

"A plan," Natasha confirmed with a nod. "What we're doing here, how long we're going to be here…do you even have Wi-Fi here?"

"Of course I have Wi-Fi." Clint shot her an offended glare as he pulled spices out of a plastic bag on the counter. "It's a farm. Not a shack in the middle of nowhere."

Natasha leaned back to glance out the kitchen window. There was basically nothing around them. All she could see in the orange afternoon glow as it turned into a dusky grey was farmland and flatness. "We're kind of in the middle of nowhere."

"Well, there's Wi-Fi," Clint replied. "I promise you."

"Good. We need to look over the files and everything that was leaked. Everything to do with us was compromised. Literally everything. So we're going to have to figure out new covers, new identities—God, we even need new places to live. All of our SHIELD-registered safe houses are out there on the Internet. We've got to—"

"Nat," Clint said calmly. She stopped talking and looked at him, watching how he leaned against the counter with the casual ease of a man who knew this kitchen and this house better than anywhere else. "We'll figure it out. We don't have to take care of everything right this second. First, we can focus on dinner, and then we can make a plan on how to not be killed." He watched her face go still, and he put down the spices he'd been holding. "Hey. You ok?"

Natasha bit the inside of her lip and nodded vaguely. "Yeah…yeah. I'm ok."

"Natasha," he said quietly. She looked at him and watched he relaxed he looked. Here she was feeling unanchored and vulnerable, but he looked like he'd never been more comfortable in his whole life. But then again, as she remembered that they were on his farm, that they were on _his _territory, it made sense. Of course he'd be relaxed here. This was his place; unlike her, he'd always had a place to return to whenever things got to be too much.

"Everything's out there, Clint," she said, the tone of her voice reflecting his. "Everything. There will be no more secrets about my past. No more cover-ups or filling in the dots when people don't know. The whole world can read all about—" She stopped and looked away from him. "No one likes an Avenger who's killed more people than she's saved."

"Natasha." Clint's voice came as a whisper, a sigh of disbelief. "You saved the world. You helped with that."

"But I've killed a lot of people, Clint," she said still without looking at him. "A lot."

"And I haven't? Nat, you just saved billions of people from death. I doubt you've killed more than billions of people. Not even Red Skull could do that. At least single-handedly." He crossed towards her and put his hands on the counter on either side of her hips, waiting for her to look at him. Finally, she drew her eyes away from the tops of her knees and looked into his face, kind of feeling like how she imagined a little kid about to get a deep life talk from a parent would feel. "Congress is full of a bunch of fucking assholes, and if they want to lock you up, they're compromising themselves."

She mustered up a smile for him. "Thanks. That pep talk…your new cover should be a life coach."

"My services aren't free." Clint smirked and put a hand on her knee, squeezing it lightly before turning it away. "I expect lots of pep up talks when I need them."

"I think I can do that," Natasha replied. She watched him walk back to the food and continue preparing it. She'd been eating his food for years now, and she still had yet to get tired of it. Sometimes she had the fear that he would resort to half-assed casseroles and store bought salads, but that wasn't Clint Barton at all, and she secretly thanked her non-existent god for that side of him.

Suddenly, it hit her that Clint was getting the vegetables out of a basket instead of a plastic bag. She watched him continue to pull them out, and she realized that he hadn't bought those. The idea of Clint as a farmer came completely out of left field; whenever she looked at him, she saw an archer. She saw a spy, and agent of SHIELD, a man who could be soft and tender but violent and lethal when he needed to be. She saw many things in Clint Barton, but a farmer? She didn't see that at all.

"You're quiet, Romanoff," Clint said, breaking the even silence.

"I was just noticing your vegetables," Natasha replied with a nod towards the basket. "They're not store bought."

"Very observant. You're right. They're not," Clint said. She waited for him to continue, but he kept mixing up what looked like a sauce.

"They're from here?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Did you grow them?"

"Yeah. Well. Technically, the people who work for me when I'm not here did," he answered. Natasha felt an unexpected pull of something sad in her chest, and she twisted her mouth to the side. All this time she'd thought that she'd known Clint, and yet he'd had a side of him that she'd been unaware of. For seven years, she hadn't known about the farm. And really, Natasha was ok with that. He could have her secrets, and she could have hers because God knew that she did. Even with her past splashed out for the world to see, she still had her secrets. But the longer she watched Clint fall into his element with the homegrown vegetables, the longer she watched him relax in with the comfortable, worn walls, the more she felt as though she'd missed out on a certain part of his life.

"Oh," she said. "Right. Your farmhands."

"I don't like to call them farmhands," Clint said, though he smiled. "They're…I don't know. They help out with the farm when I'm not here."

"How often do you come here?" Natasha asked. Clint paused and looked at her.

"I'm not running off here when I say I'm on a mission, if that's what you think," he said. Natasha frowned and jerked her head back with a grimace.

"I don't think you are," she said. "I just wanted to know. I…I don't know. I just didn't know that you did this. That…this was you."

"Well…it's not," Clint said. "It's just…I don't know. It's a farm, Nat. Just a farm."

She listened for any kind of hostility or frustration in his voice and found none. He was simply stating a fact, nothing more, nothing less. She nodded to show that she'd heard him and to pretend that she didn't have any more questions. Now wasn't the time for questions. The time would come later, she knew—that was inevitable. After the past few days she'd had, she was tired of asking questions and hearing answers she didn't want to hear, and she was certain that Clint had some answers she'd regret listening to.

But now wasn't the time, she told herself. Just like Clint had said to her only moments ago, they needed to focus on one thing at a time, so that's what she would do. She lifted her green eyes up from the wood floor, and she took in the sight of the only thing she wanted to focus on at that moment in her life. She took in the sight of Clint.


	3. Secret

**Shoutouts to Guest, the-vintageclassic, beverlie4055, pengineer, princessjoey630, RZQ, Guest, yornma, MaddieFayeth96, and EpicPackage for reviewing!**

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**Things start picking up a little bit more in this chapter, so I hope you guys like it!**

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* * *

><p>Chapter 3<p>

Natasha set the last dish in the dish drain and folded the small, wet dishtowel she'd been using to dry the dishes before she hung it over the side of the dish drain. Beside her, Clint lifted up his hands and let out a sharp, low snort.

"My hands look like prunes," he remarked. Natasha held her hands up and smiled in response.

"Mine don't," she said. He made a face at her and wiped his hands off on his jeans as if that would actually do something to help.

"Next time you can wash, and I'll dry. How about that, hmm?" he asked.

"Deal." She leaned against the counter and watched him move about the kitchen. She'd missed watching him in the kitchen because he was so relaxed and at ease there, but she'd also missed watching him in general. He moved with an easy grace that not many men had, and that was only because of his training. He was aware of himself physically as a body moving through space, and he moved with that awareness printed onto his muscles. "So when do I get a tour of the farm? First time we were here, we weren't exactly in the right state of mind or body to do the whole official tour thing."

"We can go now if you want," Clint suggested. She caught the curious, almost hopeful glance he sent her way.

"It's almost dark outside," she said.

"What? Scared of the dark? Bad guys running around?" Clint shot her a smirk that made her inwardly roll her eyes but outwardly narrow her eyes at him.

"Fine. Show me around," she said. "Wow me with your farm."

Clint's eyes darted down to her socked feet. "Closed-toed shoes. No heel."

"Roger that." She grabbed her flat sneakers and slipped them on, catching Clint's disapproving gaze as he saw the shoes she was wearing. "What?"

"We're going to have to get you Timberlands," he said. "Where are your Timberlands from home?"

"Those are at the New York place, not the D.C. place," Natasha replied. "I kind of left D.C. as soon as I could. Didn't really think about flying all the way to New York just to grab my Timberlands."

"That wasn't smart," Clint said, but she saw the small smile in his mouth that let her know he wasn't being serious. "Your shoes will get gross in no time here on a rainy day, so tomorrow morning we'll head into town and get like, real stuff."

"Good thinking." Natasha shoved her heel into her remaining shoe and stood back up. "I barely have clothes here or anything, and what I brought probably doesn't fit the farming lifestyle."

"Natasha Romanoff…the Black Widow. On a farm," Clint said with a smirk. "Never thought I'd see the day. Ready, Nat?"

"Yeah." She followed him out the front door and down the steps of the porch. The sky was more dark than it was light, but she could still see enough to make out her surroundings and where general places were located. She saw several buildings out in the distance and one building several hundred yards away from the house, and squinted her eyes through the darkness to see them.

"Barn," Clint said as he lifted a hand to point towards the closer building. "The horses and chickens are there. Cows are a little farther out."

"Cows?" Natasha repeated. "You own cows."

"Yeah. Kind of." He gave a small shrug. "Their milk does well locally at the farmers' markets. The farm kind of has a name for being organic."

"So you sell stuff," Natasha says, again stating and not asking.

"Technically, the—"

"—people who work for you sell stuff," she finished for him with a glance tossed in his direction. "How long have you been doing this?"

Clint's smile came out wry and vague, just like he'd been about everything else surrounding the farm so far. "A long time."

She followed him in silence as they walked towards an open field out towards the buildings in the distance. She sensed Clint beside her, and she sensed him in a new way she hadn't noticed before. He was relaxed. He was quiet and relaxed and completely unconcerned about anything, the complete opposite of her. She was tense, unable to wind down from the past few days of running from and shooting anything that might possibly be linked with HYDRA.

But Clint? That wasn't him. Not right now. Then again, Clint had always been different from her in a myriad of ways, and that was one of the thousands of reasons why they worked so well together. He was funny and upbeat, never afraid to go out of his way to talk to people and make them feel ok—she was quiet and observant with a suspicious, assuming air about her. Clint was patient, and he was genuinely kind. She was impatient, and it took a lot for her to want to be nice the way that he was. Maria always joked and said that between the two of them, Clint was the light, and she was the dark, and really, it was true.

"You're staring," Clint pointed out, ever in tune with his surroundings.

"I know I'm staring," she replied.

"What's on your mind?" he asked. He looked over at her, and she saw the softness in his eyes, the look he always got whenever he wanted to hold her hand or touch some part of her but didn't. Her eyes scanned over his body, again noticing how relaxed he was, and she just gave a small smile and a headshake.

"Nothing," she said. "I was just noticing how…calm you are."

He gave her an unreadable expression and then looked back out across the rapidly darkening land in front of them. "Why do I get the feeling that that's a bad thing?"

"Oh, Jesus. No. No, I didn't mean it as a criticism," Natasha said quickly because she didn't mean it that way. "It's just different. All of this is different, even from the first time we've been here together. And _you're _different, which isn't bad. You look…I don't know. Comfortable."

Clint looked back at her again, this time with surprise on his face. She waited for him to say something in response, but he didn't. Instead, he just looked down at the ground and kept walking, his pace ever slow but steady and strong. Despite his casual body language, she could tell that he wanted to touch her because he was doing that thing where he kind of wander over a little into her direction and then back out again as if he'd changed his mind.

"This isn't new to you. This whole farm thing with the—the cows and the fields and everything," Natasha said out loud, breaking the silence. Clint shook his head. "I didn't think so."

Clint slowed to a stop and gazed at her with softer blue eyes than she'd seen from him before. Just like his call name had earned him, his eyes were sharp—they needed to be. Natasha couldn't remember a time when he'd looked at her, and she hadn't been able to feel as though his gaze could piece through her soul. But just then, he looked at her with all the gentleness in the world, and it made her pause, too.

"We can do a full tour tomorrow," he said. "It's getting dark, and I think by the time we walk out to see the cows, it'll be too dark to even really see them too well."

"Ok," Natasha replied. She tried to gauge whether he wanted to postpone the tour because he didn't like that she'd noticed all of his differences or if he genuinely just wanted her to get a good look at the cows. It wasn't until they were walking up the steps to the house, and he placed his hand on the small of her back as she opened the door to go inside that she knew nothing was wrong.

Clint was many things, and even through all his new differences, he was steady. He would always be steady.

* * *

><p>Clint surprised her one step further by curling up against her and holding her that night. She was used to being greeted by sex—many hours of long, varying kinds of sex, and admittedly, she'd kind of expected that to happen tonight, but Clint surprised her by spooning her close and putting his face against the back of her shoulder.<p>

"Rain check?" he asked, knowing what she was thinking—God, he always knew what she was thinking, and sometimes in moments like these, it still managed to catch her off guard—as he kissed the back of her shoulder.

"I hope that's a promise," she replied.

"Of course."

* * *

><p>Natasha didn't wake up until 11 o'clock the next day, which she considered fair since she'd spent the last few days on the run for her life. And true to nature, Clint wasn't awake before she was. They both quietly started a new routine to their day of getting ready. Clint showered first, and while Natasha showered and got ready, he made breakfast. In a way, Natasha thought, it was exactly like being back home in New York or D.C. or wherever they'd been assigned by SHIELD to make their temporary base.<p>

Everything felt somewhat normal and ok until Clint grabbed a set of keys by the door and started out to the car, Natasha by his side. She waited at the car in the dirt driveway while Clint looked up, and when he turned around, he grinned at her. "Oh, we're taking the truck."

Natasha's red eyebrows shot up into her hairline. "The truck."

"The truck."

She stared at him, and he stared back at her. Finally, she sighed and held her hands up in defeat. "Alright. The truck. Jesus, Barton, who the hell are you, and why am I just now finding out about your secret life?"

Clint grinned and gave her a cheeky wink as he started out in a different direction. "I'll pull the truck around front. You can stay here."

Natasha watched him walk off, and she frowned just a little bit. Clint looked like he was ok. And really, she was fine with that. She wanted him to be ok—for Christ's sake, she'd spent all of her time in D.C. with Rogers and Wilson worrying about him and hoping that he'd be ok. But this was just…new. It was new, she told herself. Natasha was a woman of guns, bullets, fake disguises, and correctly executed mission plans. She lived for rules because she liked knowing which ones were ok to break.

But a farm. Agriculture and animals were kind of foreign to the redheaded assassin. No, not kind of. They were _very _foreign to her. She looked out and around the land in the daytime sun and saw the places more clearly. If she squinted her eyes, she could make out what she thought were cows out in the distance. _Clint has cows_, she thought. _Jesus, the man I'm in love with has cows, and I'm only finding out about it after nine years._

Suddenly, movement caught her eye, and she re-directed her gaze towards it, only to find Clint pulling a black truck up around front. She let out a quiet sigh of relief to see that it wasn't one of those stereotypical, falling-apart-everywhere kinds of trucks that movies always portrayed farmers having. The truck looked only about 10 years old and in working condition, and by God, she would be very happy to ride in that instead of some beaten up farmer vehicle.

She crossed towards it and opened the passenger's side door, fluidly leaping up into the seat. "Clint Barton owns a truck."

"Kind of," Clint said.

"Belongs to one of your workers?"

"It's a long story."

She knew when she wasn't supposed to ask questions, so she just nodded and let him fiddle with the radio as he eased down out of the dirt driveway. She was about to make a comment about how she liked men who drove trucks just to make him smile, but she noticed that he looked different than how he'd looked all of last night. Today he looked a little nervous and only the slightest bit uncomfortable.

"You good?" she asked.

"Yeah," he replied with a nod. "I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure, Nat." He sent her a look and a half-smile that Natasha knew was meant only to appease her if nothing else. She leaned back in her seat and looked out the window. She might as well get used to the scenery, she reasoned silently to herself. They had no idea how long they were going to be there, and so it made sense that the best thing to do was get acquainted with her surroundings. That's what a spy always did, first and foremost. She might have been on a farm in the middle of nowhere, but she was still a spy.

"Dammit," Clint sighed. "There's only country music here." Natasha wrinkled up her nose, and Clint nodded sympathetically at her reaction. "I know. I'm thinking the same thing. There used to be a classic rock station, but even then it was a bit iffy because not many people listened to it. I bet the guy who ran it got cancelled or whatever."

"Not a fan of country," Natasha added.

"Well, I think that's all the music we're going to get here, so we should probably learn to enjoy it," Clint sighed. He glanced over and caught her glare, and he winced. "Yeah, you're right. I don't think I'll be able to learn to enjoy it."

"You and me both," Natasha murmured. "Do you have one of those cords to hook your phone up to the radio? We can always plug our phones in."

"Dammit, mine's back in the D.C. apartment."

"Mine, too. I didn't even think that this would be a problem, or else I would have grabbed. Actually, I probably wouldn't have since I was just grabbing whatever I needed before I got out of there." Natasha made a mental note to pick up one of those cords in downtown or to order one off the Internet. It wouldn't be that difficult to open a new Amazon account and add one of her super secret, nearly untraceable credit cards in order to get what she needed.

"Hey, so…when we go into town…we might get a lot of weird looks," Clint said suddenly, distracting her from her thoughts about cords and credit cards. She looked over at him and saw him looking more nervous than she'd seen him look this entire time.

"Well, we're new," she said. "At least I am. The people will recognize you?"

"Yeah. Maybe. I don't know." Clint shrugged, again not meeting her eyes. "Just as a heads up. You know with these smaller towns…people stare at newcomers. They talk."

"Ok," Natasha replied. Clint was nervous about something, but she didn't know what. He didn't have that same nervous look about him whenever he was worried a mission might go wrong—even then, he never looked nervous. He just got incredibly quiet and focused, ready to get into the zone and finish whatever needed to be finished. She knew that inside, his mind might be screaming nervous words at him, but on the outside, he'd never show it. So seeing Clint nervous and kind of jittery in the car didn't really make sense to her; Clint Barton was a thousand things, but nervous wasn't exactly a word she'd use to describe him.

They continued the car ride in comfortable silence until Natasha saw the small buildings of downtown loom up in front of her. She shifted in her seat to get a better look, and quite honestly, she was surprised to see that it was bigger than she'd been expecting. In the back of her mind, she'd been thinking of a tiny, one-room store that had groceries and maybe shoes, but the downtown in actuality was a decent-sized place with store options on both sides of the street.

"So," Clint announced. "This is downtown."

"It's nice," she said. "Bigger than I was expecting."

"Hey, we have a college here!" Clint protested. "It's not some hick town. What were you expecting? _Footloose _shit where there's like, five stores or something?"

"Uh, yeah," Natasha deadpanned. She eagerly looked again out the window and looked around. "But this? I can work with this."

Clint snorted and rolled his eyes. "You can work with it. Huh. We'll see just how well you can work with it."

He pulled into a parking lot off the main street and jumped out to pay the meter as Natasha slid out of the passenger's side. The town was definitely much more urban than she'd been expecting, and she was pleasantly surprised to see that that was the case, but it still wasn't New York or D.C. She took a deep inhale and looked around her. She could get used to a small town. She could get used to something that wasn't New York or D.C. or Paris or Rome or any of the huge cities she'd had to spend time in her entire life.

When Clint was done paying the meter, they started walking out to the main sidewalk. He was a bundle of nerves beside her, and she wanted to say or do something to calm him down, but she knew better than to do that. Clint was in one of those moods where drawing attention to his negative energy would only make him more irritable. She followed him as they passed several stores and then came to a stop outside one. Clint slowed down and squinted up at the sign to make sure that this was the correct store, and then when he nodded, Natasha grabbed the door and started walking in, Clint right behind her.

The store was a large, typical clothing store that appeared to focus on hunting clothes and fishing gear. For a second, Natasha couldn't help the smirk that crossed over her face, but then she quickly wiped it off. She had to try to at least look like she blended in here, even though she had a feeling that this would be one of the very few times in her entire career as a spy in which she would not be able to flawlessly blend in.

It didn't take her long to find where the shoes were, and it took her even less time to find an average pair of Timberlands in her size. She looked over at Clint and saw him rubbing the back of his neck the way he did whenever he was stressed out about something.

"Hey," she said softly. He didn't hear her, so she crossed over to him, shoes in hand. "Hey."

He looked at her then and smiled, though it wasn't a very genuine smile. "Hey."

"Are you ok?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I think I'm still tired from everything. Yesterday was a pretty eventful day," he replied. "Find your shoes?"

"Mmhmmm. I think these'll do it." She lifted them up a little higher to inspect them. "Yep. Pretty sure these will look great on me while I wade through cow shit or whatever it is you're planning on having me do."

"I don't know, Nat, wading through cow shit soun—"

"Excuse me," a voice said, distracting the two spies. Natasha looked up to find an older man standing there. He wasn't dressed in any way to indicate that he worked there, but she couldn't imagine why anyone would approach them unless he was a store worker or if he knew Clint. _If he knew Clint_.

"Yes, sir?" Clint asked. Just like that, he was back to being professional. His cool had returned, even though she could detect some nervous energy beneath all of his easy demeanor.

"You're the younger Barton, right?" the man asked. Clint went rigid beside her, but he nodded with a smile on his face.

"Yes, sir, I own the Barton farm," he replied.

"I knew I recognized you from somewhere," the man replied, beaming brightly. "I don't know if you'd remember me, but I'm Andrew Davis. You've certainly grown up. Almost didn't recognize you there for a second." His eyes darted to Natasha. "Is this your—your—"

"This is my wife," Clint said with his smile still tight and uncomfortable. He put a hand on Natasha's back and smiled at her, though his smile seemed to grow a little more genuine as he looked at her. "Natal—"

"Natasha," she interrupted before he could get out an undercover name. If this man knew Clint's real name and not a cover name, it only seemed fair. "My name's Natasha."

"You got you a pretty wife there, son," Andrew Davis said, grinning. "I always hoped you'd turn out ok, and from what I see right now just in these few seconds—"

"Oh, yeah, Natasha's great. She's so great," Clint said. "I'm sorry to be abrupt Mr. Davis, but we've got an appointment to keep. I'll have to catch up with you at another time, but we'll be here for a little while so plenty of time."

He started guiding Natasha away from the older man and towards the register before she could process what had even happened. She looked up at his face and found his jaw clenched, his eyes fierce with a thundering emotion she hadn't seen in a long time. Quietly, she set the shoes on the counter and let the young cashier check her out. She paid, grabbed the bag, and started walking to the door with Clint, still not saying anything. When they opened the door and walked out, Clint didn't look back in.

Natasha waited for him to say something, but he just started walking back to the truck. "Clint. Clint, we have more things we need to get while we're here."

"I know," he said shortly. She followed him down the street and around the corner into the parking lot. He leaned against the side of his truck and didn't say anything, didn't look at her. He just looked down at the ground and kept his gaze focused there.

"Are you going to tell me what that was back there?" Natasha asked. Clint shifted his jaw to the side, but he didn't say anything. "Clint?"

He looked up and away from her towards the brick wall of the building beside him. Natasha took a step in and tried to get in his line of sight. "Nat…"

"Yeah? I'm right here," she said, careful not to sound angry because she didn't want him to think that she was. He inhaled deeply and then let out a long sigh, finally turning his head to look at her.

"Nat, I think you already know," he said in an even, matter of fact voice. "I think you've known the truth about the farm since we were here two years ago."

Natasha paused and didn't look away. She'd had suspicions. Clint moved too comfortably there at the house for it to just be a farmhouse that he'd bought 10 or so years ago. He knew the area and the land, and when he'd looked out at it last night, she'd seen a spark in his eye that she knew she got whenever she looked at him.

"This is where you grew up," she said quietly. Clint smiled blankly and nodded.

"I knew you'd know," he replied. "Don't know why I've been secretive about it this whole time."

"It's the way you hold yourself," Natasha offered as if she were apologizing. "You're far more relaxed here than I've seen you anywhere else. And I knew you grew up on a farm…lived in Iowa…it was just a lot of circumstantial stuff adding all up, but it was watching how comfortable you were there that gave it away."

"Which is funny because my best memories do not have to do with this place at all," Clint remarked out loud. He tried to sound light about it, but he just sounded sad. "Spent part of my childhood there…then when you were injured, and I had Loki in my…" He looked away again. "And now. When SHIELD's gone, and we don't have anywhere else to go."

"Those are the only times you've been back?" Natasha asked curiously. Clint shook his head.

"Every few years I'd come check on things, but I've never stayed for longer than two or three days," he replied. "So…I guess we're staying there a while, and I'll just have to…I don't know."

"We can't always change past memories, but there's always something to be done about future ones," Natasha offered. Clint peered up at her through his eyelashes in such a young way that it both melted and broke her heart. Stepping forward, she reached up to his face and laid her palm over his cheek. "And remember…this time you're not alone. I'm here with you. I might be poor company but…"

Clint took her hand and held it in his as he smiled gently at her, this time a real smile as small as it was. "You're the best company."

"You're biased," Natasha replied, her voice gentle and fond.

"A little bit." He stared at her with those soft eyes of his, and then he gave a little tug on her hand to bring her closer. Pulling in for just a brief moment, he leaned his cheek against the top of her head. "I love you. Thank you, Nat."

"For what?" she asked. He pulled away and let his blue eyes search her face. For what, she didn't know, but she couldn't say that she minded being the topic of his gaze when he looked at her so gently like that.

"For knowing without me having to say," he replied simply. She brought her hand back up to his cheek, and she kissed him, soft, slow, and brief.

"I love you, too," she said in reply as she studied in him in return.

_I know when you lie to me_, she thought.

_I know when you keep secrets_, she wanted to say.

_I know I'm your best-kept secret_.


	4. Answers

**Shoutouts to Black Betty, pengineer, Ealasaid Una, beverlie4055, patty cake rocks, Jo, EpicPackage, Guest, and MaddieFayeth96 for reviewing!**

**I know I'm a day late again, so thanks for your continued patience!**

**I've had some people mention Barney Barton to me and ask what he's been up to all this time, so hopefully this chapter will give some more answers =) Over than that, there really isn't a lot of housekeeping to take care of, so today's Author's Note is pretty short! Today's chapter is also a little shorter than usual, so I hope you guys don't mind.**

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><p>Chapter 4<p>

Clint wasn't stupid. He was very good at pretending he was whenever he needed to, but in reality, he was far from stupid. That being said, Clint liked to live under illusions. He liked telling himself that Natasha had no idea where the farm had come from; he genuinely liked believing that she couldn't put two and two together to form the answer all on her own. But he'd known deep down two years ago that she suspected the truth. He just hadn't admitted it until then.

Natasha didn't know everything about his childhood, but she knew more than anyone else did. She knew he'd grown up on a farm in Iowa, she knew that his dad had beat the shit out of him, she knew that his parents had died, and she knew that he and his brother had run away with the circus. She knew far more than anyone else in the entire world did, and Clint intended to keep it that way.

He didn't know why he hadn't told her; keeping it to himself for so long seemed ridiculous now that the knowledge was open between them. And God, she was _Natasha_. She knew him inside and out on a thousand different levels. Of course he should have known that she'd figure it out. Most of all, he should have known that he'd feel a hundred times better after she'd learned the truth. Nothing ever felt right until he shared it with her—that was the way it had always been.

They didn't talk about what happened in town until they were done shopping and back in the truck. Clint glanced over at her and saw that she had her feet propped up on the dash like always. "So. That was town."

"I like it," Natasha replied. "Different than New or D.C. or London but good different."

"Yeah?" Clint asked. He hadn't even realized how nervous he felt learning her opinion about his hometown until just then. For some reason, even though he hadn't actually lived there in years, he wanted her to like it. He wanted her to approve of where he'd grown up to some degree. She nodded with a pleasant look on her face.

"Yeah," she said. "It's much bigger than I thought it'd be. It's nice to see a smaller town with a slower pace of life. After everything that's happened, I think we deserve a little bit of down time."

"I agree," Clint said with a nod.

"How many people do you still know here?" Natasha asked. Clint had known the questions would come at some point, but he found that he didn't dread them. He paused as he thought about it. He'd recognized the man in the store, and he'd run into one other person he'd known as a kid the night before, but really, that was it for the people he'd seen and known.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I've been trying to keep a low profile ever since the farm became mine."

"And when did that happen?"

"When I was 18."

"Because you were a legal adult then?"

"Correct. That's what my parents said in their will, so…it became mine. I came back with my brother and wound up getting the farm going. We hired some people to take care of the place, and we've just kind of done that since." Clint felt Natasha's curious eyes on him as soon as he mentioned his brother.

"Your brother," she said. "He owns the farm, too?"

"Uh…not really. My parents left it to me. Don't know why but…" Clint's voice fell off, and he awkwardly shrugged. Honestly, he didn't know why he'd been the one to inherit the farm. Barney was older, and his parents—well, his dad—had liked Barney better. Between the two of them, Barney was the one who got the fewer beatings, even though that didn't say much because the older Barton brother still sported his fair share of cuts and bruises that decorated his face like a cluster of lights on a Christmas tree.

"Do you know what your brother does these days?" Natasha asked. Clint gave a loud, short snort, meriting another curious glance from the redheaded assassin who was serving as his partner, passenger, and just kind of everything for him in that moment.

"No fucking clue," he replied. "I haven't talked to Barney in years. God…I think the last time was maybe five years ago, and it was more of a threat to back off than anything."

"You and Barney used to be close," Natasha said, stating it instead of asking. Clint had told her about the beatings Barney had taken for him, the fights he'd provoked with his father in order for him to leave Clint alone and go after him. He remembered all the times Barney had stuck up for him. _How times have changed_, he thought with an ironic tone in his head.

"Yeah. We did," he admitted.

"How'd that change? He went from defending you to wanting to kill you," Natasha said. Clint's mouth twisted upward into a dry, mildly amused smile, but it looked tight and out of place on his usually sunny face. He heaved a quiet, soft sigh.

"Well…you know how I defected to SHIELD. Coulson and a bunch of SHIELD guys were after me, Barney, and our mentors. I was the only one caught, and then I guess Barn caught wind of it. He sees it as betrayal, I think." The words felt weird on Clint's lips; he'd never talked about Barney before—not _really, _really talked about him. Those who were close to him knew about the mysterious, absent older brother who'd spent his childhood keeping Clint safe, and that was about all they knew. But Natasha…Natasha was always different. She always had been, and she always would be. To him, it made sense in his mind that she would be the one he'd open up to.

"Have you ever talked about it?" Natasha asked. She took her feet down from the dash and curled them up under her the way she did whenever she was putting her full attention in something.

Clint shook his head. "Didn't have to. He tried to kill me next time he saw me and saw my SHIELD uniform. After that, we've been at each other's throats when we've had to cross paths, which, thankfully, isn't often." He took another look at Natasha and saw her staring at him with a slight frown on her face. "What?"

"Just thinking," she said. "Your brother's never been a concern before, right?"

"What?" Clint asked, his frown mirroring hers.

"A concern," Natasha repeated as the wheels of her brain really started to turn. "SHIELD's gone now. It very publicly went up in flames. Your brother…"

"Would have seen," Clint slowly finished as he realized what she was saying. She pressed her lips together in a firm line and gave a short nod. "So since it was so public, he would know that I need a place to lay low—"

"—the farm," Natasha concluded. "Do you have any reason to think he'd come here and look for you?"

Clint drew his eyebrows in together as his frown deepened. He hadn't considered that. Barney stayed off the grid just as well as Clint did; if Clint ever wanted to track his brother down, that meant he had to go through a long, complicated process of contacting the right people and waiting for them to contact their contacts, so on and so forth. Barney knew how to stay undetected, much the way Clint did. That being said, Barney knew that Clint would come back to the farm when he had nowhere else to go.

"I don't think he would," he said, his voice slow and thoughtful. "I mean…we try to stay out of each other's way more than anything. I don't think he'd come here with the intent of killing me."

"Good," Natasha said. He detected a certain kind of edge to her voice that she got only whenever she was about to slip into the Black Widow, and he shot her a confused, curious glance of his own.

"Nat?" he asked.

"I'm not losing you, too," she said quietly. When he put his hand on top of hers, they didn't talk about Barney or the farm or anything else for the rest of the drive home.

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><p>By the time they got back to the farm, Natasha was antsy and ready to get out. The sun was out, and the weather was calm and clear. Even though she didn't need fresh air as badly as Clint did, there was something about the Iowa sun and the blue, open sky that made her feel as though she couldn't sit another second inside that truck. Clint watched with an amused smile as she tumbled out of truck and out into the air.<p>

"Cabin fever?" he asked after he jumped out.

"I want a tour," Natasha said. "A real tour. We kind of saw some stuff last night, but I want to actually see your farm. Show me where you grew up."

She was practically dancing with energy, something that was completely the opposite of Natasha. Normally, the redheaded assassin was quiet and subtle, but as she looked at him, clearly waiting for a real tour of the farm, he saw a new energy that he'd never seen her in her in the entire nine years that they'd known each other. He lifted his dark blond eyebrows in surprise as he watched her.

"What?" she asked. "You're staring."

"I know I'm staring," he remarked in amusement. "I've just never seen you like this. You're all…antsy. Who the hell are you, and what'd you do with Natasha Romanoff?"

"Well, I was thinking," Natasha said levelly, trying to get her energy under control a little better. "I was thinking on the drive back that we don't know how long we're going to be here. We could be called up tomorrow, next week, in a year…I don't know. I want to see where you grew up. I want to…I don't know. See all of it. This farm helped shape you into the man you are today."

"I wouldn't exactly say that," Clint drily answered with a quiet sigh. "It shaped me as a kid."

"Which shaped you as an adult," Natasha finished. Clint glanced towards the back of the truck where all their supplies was. "Leave it. We'll come back for it. Worse comes to worst, we can get it tonight. But considering the fact that I stayed here for a month and didn't even get the grand tour, I think I deserve one now."

Clint exhaled heavily through his nose, and then he shrugged. "Ok."

The smile on Natasha's face was worth it, but he had a feeling of dread fill his stomach and settle there as he walked around the truck and towards her. In a way, showing her the farm as the place where he'd grown up was different. Last night it'd just been a place. Another safe house in the middle of nowhere for them. But now…now it had history. Natasha officially knew the truth, and there was no way that he could separate the blood he'd spilled from his own body here from the land of the farm itself.

"That's the horse barn," Clint said, pointing out the barn from the night before. "We can go in and take a look."

"Did you have horses as a kid?" Natasha asked.

"We had a few. Not many. Just enough to help with any jobs that needed to be done," Clint replied. He watched Natasha move in closer to him with curious, lit up eyes. The angle from which she looked up at him made the sunlight catch her eyes, and even if Clint hadn't already known how beautiful she was, he would have seen it then. Her eyes were green, but they were a hundred different shades of green. They started out dark green near the outer edges of her iris, turned a lighter mixture of green in the center of her iris, and then darkened back as her iris turned into her pupil. Her eyes were never a singular color of green, and the sunlight always reminded him of the true colors her eyes were actually made up of.

He walked with her into the barn and deeply inhaled. God, it'd been years since he'd actually set foot in the barn. He tried to think about the last time he'd been inside to visit the horses, but he'd be damned if he couldn't even remember. Despite the fact that he'd been here just two years ago, he hadn't set foot in the place in a long as hell time. Squinting his eyes, he looked all around and breathed in the familiar scents. Natasha walked a little ahead of him to peer in some of the stalls.

"Huh," she remarked out loud. "There really are horses in here."

"What'd you think would be in here instead?" Clint scoffed, a half-smile dancing over his face. "Nothing?"

"No. I figured horses. I just…am still trying to wrap my head around this whole you and animals thing." She eyed the horses as if she didn't trust them, which, honestly, Natasha probably didn't. She'd never been terribly fond of horses or horseback riding, Clint remembered. Suddenly, he grinned as a thought occurred to him.

"Hey, Nat," he said.

"Yeah?" She glanced back at him.

"Our first kiss was in a barn," he said. "With horses."

"You're fight." Surprise crossed her face as if she hadn't considered the fact that he'd remember. "Back when we were young and saucy and hot."

"Excuse you. I'm still saucy and hot. Maybe not young. Thirty-three doesn't feel like a young age." He crossed towards her and stood beside her, looking in at one of the horses. He didn't even know what horses he owned and which ones were no longer there anymore, but he remembered agreeing to certain purchases being made, particularly the bigger ones like horses.

"You're still young," Natasha replied.

"Easy for you to say. You're still in your 20s."

"True." Natasha tilted her head to the side and looked up at Clint. "Just look at us now. We went from being SHIELD agents who never took no for an answer to Avengers who now have no one to answer to. How the hell did we end up in this situation?"

"I don't know," Clint quietly murmured.

"Most of all, how the hell didn't we notice HYDRA? That's our _job_. We're _supposed _to pick up on bad things like that, on dishonesty and people who can't be trusted. We get paid to do that and no one—" Natasha cut herself off, and she shut her mouth tightly.

"That's bothering you," Clint said, his voice gentle. Her gaze turned into a mildly annoyed, confused expression as her eyes dragged over his face.

"Doesn't it bother _you_?" she asked. "I've been thinking nonstop about this whole HDYRA thing, and you're acting like you couldn't care less."

"Nat. I care. I give a thousand shits over everything that's happened. Honestly…" Clint sighed, and he pushed a hand through his already unruly short blond hair as he stared back at her with a perplexed frown. "I think I'm still trying to process everything. SHIELD's gone. Nick Fury's playing dead. Turns out Coulson's been playing dead, too. It's just a lot. You and I don't have the same coping mechanisms, Nat. You like to take care of shit as soon as possible…I like to…I don't know. Pretend the problem doesn't exist until I can't pretend anymore."

"That's true," Natasha murmured in agreement. Folding in on herself, she crossed her arms over her chest and looked away from him. He watched her look over the rest of the horse barn, noticing how she kept her back to him so he couldn't see her face. "Maybe there isn't really a fix for all of this. I don't know."

"Nat?" Clint moved in a little closer to hear her better.

"I don't know. Just thinking out loud," she said, which was a total lie because she didn't think out loud, and Clint knew it. Natasha never spoke until she'd thought about it, reviewed it a couple times in her head, and determined that there was good reason to say it aloud. But she lied, and he accepted it because he knew that that was what she needed then. "But maybe there isn't a fix for this. I've been going over it in my head, and I can't think of any way where SHIELD can come out on top. There are too many HYDRA agents, and we have no director. What are we supposed to do now?"

She looked up at Clint as if he had all the answers. He didn't. Clint rarely had the answers for the kinds of questions like this that she asked, but he knew she needed him to say something. He looked at her and saw the worry written all over her face, saw how concerned and upset she was when she was so good at keeping it to herself, and he wondered how long she'd been bottling this up. Just seconds ago, she was happy and excited to tour the farm where he'd grown up, and now she was sullen and worried.

"We're supposed to figure out what we're going to do _without _SHIELD," he finally said. She frowned at him, clearly not liking the answer he'd given.

"How?" she asked.

"Hell if I know," Clint responded honestly without an inch of sarcasm or lightness in his voice. "But until then, I'm just going to focus on the fact that we're safe on this farm, mainly because it's in the middle of nowhere, and I'm here with you. And honestly, those are the two things I'm really looking for here. Safety and you."

Natasha's face softened, and for a second, there was guilt in her eyes, but it was gone just as soon as it'd appeared. Tentatively, she took a step in towards him, and Clint knew that that was his cue to hug her. So he did. He held out his arms and wrapped her up in them, resting his cheek on top of her red hair. She hadn't dried and straightened it today, so it hung loose and wavy, all natural and completely lovely. She was one of the few people he knew who could wear her hair any way at all, and she'd look amazing with it, something he'd told her before, and she'd laughed off. But it was true. Natasha looked great with any hairstyle.

She moved her head so that her cheek rested against his chest, and she breathed deeply. "I should pick up a hobby."

Clint laughed softly and held her a little tighter. "I don't know. Maybe. What about knitting? Think you'd be good at that?"

"God, no." He couldn't see her face, but he could hear the disgust and shock in her voice. "I don't think I'd be good at knitting at all."

"Quilting."

"I'd be terrible at that, too."

"Baking."

"Hell no."

"Home service laundry?"

"_Clint_." This time she was laughing, and she looked up at him with a smile instead of a frown. "Why is it that you're suggesting all of these stereotypically housewife things for me to do? Why can't I go plow a field as a hobby?"

"Because I have people hired who do that, and I think you'd hate plowing every bit as much as you'd hate knitting," Clint pointed out. She considered his statement, and then she shrugged.

"Ok," she said. "Hmmm. Maybe I'll start a garden. I'm pretty terrible at growing things, but…it's something to get me out in the sun, and I'd rather do that than learn how to knit. I like getting my hands dirty."

Clint gave her a wicked smile. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She returned it and tilted her head up to kiss him. "You still owe me, by the way."

"Oh, I definitely do, and I'm definitely planning on paying my debts to you this evening, Miss Romanoff." Clint lowered his head down to hers and kissed her, his mouth soft and warm. He thought back to the first time they'd ever kissed, also back in a barn. They'd been preparing for a mission, and it had been more out from a work point of view than anything—at least that's what he'd told himself all throughout the kiss and then the next few days that had followed—but it had still been the first time he'd held her and kissed her, very much like this.

Reluctantly, he pulled away and tucked a loose piece back behind her ear, feeling very much the stereotypical white guy protagonist in a rom com as he completed the gesture. She looked up at him and tightened her grip around his waist just a little harder. "You still have to show me the rest of your farm."

"To be completely honest, I would be more than happy to just stand here for the rest of the day hugging you," Clint said, meriting a small eye roll from Natasha as she released her hold around his waist and took a step back, though her hand caught in his. She grabbed onto his hand and started walking, smiling as she looked back at him to see him dragging behind her. As Clint allowed her to pull him along, he thought that he'd follow her anywhere she went as long as she held onto him like this. Hell, he'd follow her even if she didn't, and he was ok with that.

He almost missed the stairs for the ladder at the very end of the barn, but at the last second, he saw the familiar wooden rungs that led up to the loft. His smile faded as he remembered how he knew those stairs, how he knew that loft. Everything he'd felt in that last moment with Natasha seemed to melt away as memories came rushing back into his brain.

"Clint?" Natasha had noticed he'd slowed down and stopped to look at the ladder.

"I'm ok," he replied. "Nothing. I thought I saw something."

Whether or not Natasha noticed his lie, she didn't acknowledge it. She just waited for him to come with her, fingers still intertwined with his, and when he started walking again, she didn't bring it up. Yes, Natasha knew the truth about the farm. She knew certain things about his childhood and his relationship with his brother, things that he'd openly and willingly told her.

But as Clint thought about the loft in the barn, he knew that there were some things he couldn't tell her. Not yet.


	5. Ghosts

**Shoutouts to pengineer, EpicPackage, Jo, beverlie4055, josmi1351, Thatshippingfangirl14, AmeliaSkellig, princessjoey630, MaddieFayeth96, Guest, clintashainthetardis, SorchaRossin, Guest, and MissSunshine for reviewing!**

**I know I'm super late! So sorry for the delay. Thanksgiving break came around, and I don't have WiFi in my house since we're in the process of moving, so I've been a bit behind. However, I'm hoping that this chapter makes up for it a little bit!**

**I had a few questions on whether or not I was going to bring Barney into the story, and at this point, I'm not sure. I'm open to it, though, so I'll have to see where the story goes =) If you have any opinions on the matter, feel free to send them my way!**

**Just as a heads up, this fic is now rated M! You know what that means!**

**For extra emotions, listen to "Riptide" - Taylor Swift. (Her cover of it is bombin.)**

**As always, leave your thoughts and opinions! When I say your reviews keep me motivated, I mean it. So hopefully it won't take me this long to update next time! Thanks for being so patient!**

**Enjoy! =)**

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><p>Chapter 5<p>

The weather changed quickly there, Natasha noticed. It wasn't until later in the afternoon when the rain began to fall, but the sky was so dark so early that it might as well have been nighttime. She sat in the living room with a thick, worn-in quilt draped over her lap as she started setting up the new laptop she'd bought downtown with one of her untraceable credit cards, and that was when the rain started to pour. Natasha actually paused to look out the window directly in front of her at the torrent of rain. She'd travelled all around the world and seen, experienced, and felt different kinds of rain, and yet Iowa's rain was brand new to her.

The sky poured as if a powerful dam had been broken. Briefly, it crossed her mind that if she were a religious person, she would have compared this kind of rain to the kind that Noah must have seen when he'd built his infamous ark in order to avoid being drowned by God. She kept her eyes trained out the window for a few seconds as she watched in wonder. And then the lights went out. Natasha looked up at the ceiling with a confused, rueful expression on her face. This shit didn't happen in New York City, she thought to herself.

In the kitchen, she heard Clint let out a string of swear words, and then came the sound of a cabinet opening. "Clint?"

"The power went out," he called.

"I kind of noticed," she called back, her tone dry as ever. "Have any flashlights?"

"Somewhere. Haven't really been here in years, so I don't remember where I keep the fucking things." Clint rummaged around in some drawers. "Hey, are there candles in there?"

Natasha squinted her eyes through the mild darkness. "Yeah, I think so."

Clint appeared in the doorway in less than five seconds with something in his hands that she couldn't quite make out. "I found a lighter."

She watched him stumble around in the darkness as he tried to find the scented candles placed throughout the room. Scented candles weren't exactly Clint Barton's style, and she wondered who'd put them there. When Clint wasn't here, she wondered if anyone came to check on the place, to make sure it was in working order. What if the pipes burst in wintertime? What if the electricity went out like it had just now? Did anyone stay here when Clint wasn't? She watched Clint light the last candle, and she smiled at the dim candlelight illuminating the small living room.

"This is pretty," she said. Clint looked at her over his shoulder, and she caught his own hint of a smile as he set the lighter down on the table in front of the window before turning back and walking towards her.

"Glad you think so," he said. Natasha threw the edge of the quilt back to let him underneath with her, and she closed the lid of the laptop, setting it off to the side so she could put her full attention on Clint. In the low light of the living room with the mixed lighting from the candles and what little natural light came from outside, he didn't look like himself. He looked like some unfamiliar form who somehow managed to look like something resembling Clint. His profile was still the same, and there were features she could make out in the dim light that she knew belonged to Clint, but he looked so new and different that it almost didn't seem like him.

He felt her gaze on him, and he looked over at her, observing her as if for the very first time. She'd been the scrutiny of his gaze millions of times in the past, but she never got tired of being looked at by him; she never got tired of feeling his eyes on her and watching him see her for who she really was. Their relationship was weird and unorthodox—that Natasha knew. She'd never tried to pretend that it was anything but. Two assassins who'd met because he'd had orders to kill her but had wound up saving her and falling in love with her instead while she'd defected to the U.S. and falling in love with him in return. They'd never been under any kind of impression that their relationship—their _partnership_—was anything but weird and unheard of.

But the fact of the matter was that it had been different since the very first time Clint had laid eyes on her. She'd known it the second he'd taken his goggles off, and she'd seen his stunning blue eyes. Clint had seen through her as Natalia, as the Black Widow. He'd looked through all of her facades and her covers to see her as who she was. Even then, she'd been Natasha, she thought to herself. She just hadn't known it. She hadn't known that she'd had the capability to be Natasha, who was the kind of person she liked. God, she actually _liked _herself sometimes. And that was partially because Clint had looked at her as someone who was worth being liked. He always had.

"I really missed you," he said quietly. "I told you before, but…I don't know. I wanted to tell you again."

Instead of answering, Natasha just moved in closer towards him, and she rested her head against his shoulder, snuggling into him in a way she hadn't done in a long time. She looked out the window and waited as Clint placed his arm around her shoulders so that they were both a little more comfortable in their closeness. "Thanks for bringing me here."

"Thanks for coming," Clint replied. "I mean it. No one else knows about this place except for you. I intend to keep it that way, too."

"Don't have to worry about me running my mouth." Natasha threw her legs over Clint's lap beneath the blankets and suppressed a quiet sigh when he put his free hand over her knees as if to keep her in place. "Clint…how are you able to come back here? You've got memories in this house that…I know what your childhood was like. To some degree."

Clint went still for just a second, and then he tilted his head to the side in consideration. "I don't know. I just…do. It's the one place that SHIELD can't touch. No one else can touch it. No one knows about it or about me except for you. The people in town think I do something else in another part of the state or the country or whatever. At least from what I can gather based on the things they've said to me on the rare occasions someone's recognized me."

"But your childhood…your memories…I only went back to Voloshin's headquarters all those years ago because I had to. I wouldn't go there willingly on my own," Natasha said.

"I wouldn't come here unless I had to, either," Clint admitted. "That's why we came here two years ago and why we're here now. We have no other choice. Ten bucks says all of the safe houses we've kept in the past are being destroyed by SHIELD right now. Or HYDRA. Whoever the hell is pulling all this shit."

"HYDRA," Natasha murmured in a quiet voice. "You're right. Our whole lives are being ripped apart right now."

"And that's why we're here," Clint finished. "I wouldn't bring you here or even suggest it if I didn't think it were our only option."

Natasha nestled her head against his shoulder a little tighter and closed her eyes, breathing him in. She knew his scent so well. Even when his clothes went through the laundry, they somehow smelled like him. Everything from his shirts to his pants to his jackets smelled permanently of his soap, gunpowder, and bow oil. Beneath her ear, she could hear his heartbeat, and there was no sound more beautiful in the world to her.

"Did you hear anything on Palmer?" Clint asked. Natasha paused.

"What?" she asked.

"Palmer. Did you hear anything on what his status was before you officially dropped off the face of the Earth?" Clint's tone was joking, but Natasha realized that she hadn't even thought about their friend until that moment. She reached back into her memory and tried to see if she could remember his name being mentioned in any of the reports she'd seen. A list of casualties had been floating around the Internet since the nightmare in D.C. had happened, but she couldn't remember seeing his name, thank God.

"No," she thoughtfully answered. "I don't remember seeing his name on any casualty lists or HYDRA lists. Nothing like that. I'd assume he's ok. Can't imagine he'd be working for HYDRA, anyway. It's Palmer. He hates confrontation and anything remotely violent."

"I didn't think he was HYDRA," Clint said. "I just wanted to know if he'd been killed."

"Last I heard, he was ok." Natasha felt him lean his head on top of hers as they both watched the rain continue to pour down. "Know what that rain reminds me of?"

"What?"

"Budapest."

Clint let out a low laugh, and he turned his mouth slightly into her hair. "Yeah, I can see that. It reminds me of Budapest, too. Wasn't thinking about that at first, but yeah."

"What were you thinking of?" Natasha moved her head so she could see Clint's face better. She expected to see him with a smile on his mouth, but instead, he just looked kind of solemn at the thought of his memory.

"When I was a kid, I used to do homework on the floor here," he said with a nod towards a spot on the other side of the coffee table. "Even when our electricity got shut off because we couldn't necessarily afford to pay the bills, I would get a flashlight or a candle or something and do my homework there until I heard my dad come home. Then I'd go to my room to finish it if I wasn't done yet."

"I bet you were the cutest kid," Natasha said. Finally, she saw Clint's smile, and he shook his head.

"Dopey," he corrected. "I was a dopey looking kid."

"I don't believe it." Natasha rested her chin against his shoulder as she looked up at him. "I'd bet my last dollar that you were cute as hell."

Sheepishly, he looked away to hide his smile, and he looked at the wall. Everything about the house looked the same from when he was a kid. It was literally the same. The only thing that was different was the fact that it had a few more years under its belt. Other than that, the wallpaper was the same, the carpets, the furniture…all of it was the same stuff he remembered from when he was a kid.

"I don't like ghosts very much," he remarked out loud as he looked around. "And this house is full of them."

Natasha was quiet for a few seconds. She understood. She knew exactly what he meant when he said that because she was constantly surrounded by ghosts. Ghosts of the people she'd killed, both innocent and guilty, ghosts of her own pasts, and ghosts of people she hadn't been able to save. She of all people understood what it meant to live a haunted life, and Clint knew she did, too.

"Clint," she said softly. He turned to look at her, and when he did, she kissed him. She kissed him slow and sweet without adding anything suggestive by placing her lips on his. She kissed him because she wanted to comfort him, and she kissed him because she loved him and needed him to know it. Tentatively, he returned the kiss, moving his hand from her knees to her face. His thumb brushed over her cheekbone as he touched her so gently it almost didn't feel real. Even after all these years, he could still make her dizzy, she thought with a slight smile playing across her lips.

"Tasha," he murmured back to her. "Natasha. Natasha, Natasha, Natasha."

She kissed him again, spurred on by the sounds of her name on his lips and the pouring rain hitting the glass of the windowpane. It wasn't long before her kisses went from sweet and gentle to heated and needy, her mouth molding to his as if his lips held the answer to a question she'd always wanted to know but hadn't been able to find. _Am I worth this? Why do you love me? Will you never leave?_

Her hands scrambled to get to the buttons on the front of his flannel—flannel didn't look quite so out of place here on the farm as it did whenever he wore it in New York or D.C.—and she began to unbutton the long line of buttons that ran down his front. She needed to feel him, to touch him. How long had it been since she'd had the feel of his bare skin against hers? How many weeks had it been since she had kissed him like this? Her fingers brushed over a spot of bare skin, and he let out a tiny groan against her mouth, making her grin inwardly.

She wanted to kiss down his jaw to his neck, but she couldn't bring herself to move away from his mouth. They would have plenty of time for kissing other parts of each other's bodies, she reasoned to herself, but now was the time to taste his mouth and devour him whole. She continued working the buttons until they were all undone, and then Clint took over in an effortless transition of control as he shoved his shirt off and tossed it to the floor without a second thought in the world. When he touched her again, he slid his hands up beneath her shirt and removed it with another haphazard toss to the floor.

Clint's hands were like fire and Earth, his body like water. He touched her as if he had a claim to make, and she had no choice but to let him make it. His skin was bared to her, and slowly, Natasha touched him in all his beauty. Scars marked his body, but Natasha had never felt disgusted by them. If anything, she liked them. God, how could she not? Clint's scars were his biography, and every time she touched them, she was reading a map of his experiences. She was reading a never-ending cluster of stories that helped define who he was and why he was, and for that, she would never feel disgust.

She felt his hands move to the button of her jeans. Two quick seconds later, and she felt the release of both her button and her zipper as he undid them with his fast, nimble hands that had come as a result of years of archery. When he placed his palms flat to her waist to feel her warm skin, she inhaled at the feel of his callouses. Sometimes it still amazed her that she knew every part of him so well; she knew where the callouses on his fingers turned into the softness of his hand and where the rough, hardened patches of skin would scrape against her body when he touched her certain ways. In the back of her mind, she registered the sound of Clint's jeans come undone, and she reached out, more than eager to help him shed his clothing.

At some point, she was naked. Somewhere along the way, she'd lost her underwear and her bra, but she didn't mind. That was the goal, anyway. She didn't remember when Clint had taken off her jeans or her underwear, nor did she remember him removing his own, but she didn't care. All she remembered was him moving her onto her back on the couch and hovering over her, his body so close yet so far. As she looked up at him and saw him staring down at her, looking at her as if she had hung the stars in the damn sky herself, she reached between them and took him in her hand. His breath caught, and he closed his eyes as she worked him, slow and gentle. He thrust into her palm, growing harder by the second, and then, when he couldn't take it anymore, he gently took her hand and placed it on his neck.

Natasha kissed him, baring herself to him in more ways than one. She didn't care that he could see her brand new shoulder wound she'd gotten courtesy of the Winter Soldier. She didn't care that he could name each and every scar on her body the way she could on his. When she thought about it, she'd never been afraid of him seeing the marks on her body, just as he'd never been afraid of her seeing the marks on his. She'd never been afraid of lying open and naked beneath his gaze. But when she kissed him, when he lowered himself between her legs and positioned himself just right, when she spread her legs to signal that she wanted him, she bared her soul to him, too. That had always been the difficult thing to do, she remembered, but with Clint, it was no longer terrifying. After nine years of showing her soul to him, it was more of a comfort than a fear.

Clint pushed inside her slowly and easily, never once pulling away to stop kissing her. At the feeling of him settling inside her body, Natasha made a small moan, almost so quiet that had Clint not been wearing his hearing aids, he wouldn't have heard it. Normally, once he was inside her, he waited a few seconds for her to adjust, but he didn't today. Instead, he went straight into setting a slow, even pace, stroking long and deep between her legs. Natasha moved her hands from his face and placed them on his lower back. She felt his muscles move and contract beneath his skin as he worked them to move inside her. She felt his hips flex and release with each thrust, moving and working in tandem with each other.

His lips never left hers as he fucked her slow and hard against the couch. God, it wasn't even fucking, Natasha thought in the back of her hazy brain. They weren't fucking, but they weren't making love—she'd never liked that phrase because it sounded too sentimental and too sweet. She could be accused of being sentimental, but sweet was never a description that she thought fit her. Sweet was a word that suited Clint, not her. They were having sex in the most intimate way possible, Natasha decided. Clint was pressed along the length of her body so closely that there wasn't any space between them. She could feel every inch of his defined, muscular torso against hers, could feel every breath he inhaled and exhaled, every heartbeat and change of pulse.

She licked into his mouth and bit at his lip, needing to taste him. He thrust into her at a particularly sharp angle, and she moaned, tilting her hips beneath him to get more. Clint's hips worked her as if she were his bow and arrow—he was deliberate, patient, tactile, relentless, and precise. He took as much as he gave, and that was one of the things Natasha loved about him. He thrust into her, curling his hips in a slow, grind inside her body until he hit where he needed to. Right away, Natasha began to feel her orgasm start to build. Clint's thrusts pushed her where she needed to be, and she tightened her hold on where she grasped him low on his hips.

Her climax happened before she was even ready for it. It came out of nowhere and hit her hard and strong, bending her body and sending hot electric shivers all throughout her from head to toe as they spread out from between her thighs. She managed a small gasp but couldn't speak or find the power in her to say Clint's name; all she could do was ride it out and clutch him to her, shaking and panting. Clint began to pick up the pace a little bit more as he chased out his own orgasm, and Natasha held him in the cradle of her body, pressing her hands against the base of his spine. She felt his muscles flexing harder as they worked to help him towards his release.

"Come on, Clint," she whispered against his lips. "Come on, you."

When she plunged her tongue deep into his mouth, his hips jerked and lost control of the pace he'd established. He bucked and slammed into her, and just like that, he was coming. Watching Clint come was something Natasha never tired of; she loved watching his face, his body, his mouth…she loved watching him find his pleasure inside her. Holding her body soft and relaxed beneath his, she used her hands to gently massage the muscles at the base of his spine to help him along.

With a loud groan, Clint dropped his head to her shoulder and tried to catch his breath. Natasha brought her hands up to his hair and pushed her fingers through the short, unruly tufts, feeling her own chest slowly heave less and less as her orgasm began to subside. For a long time, she just held him with her eyes closed. She pressed her nose into his temple and breathed in deeply while she listened to the rain and his quiet, panting breathing.

Finally, Clint let out a low, rumbling chuckle, and he kissed her collarbone. "I love you so much. You know that?"

Natasha kissed his temple in return and nodded, closing her eyes. "I do."

* * *

><p>Fifteen minutes later, Natasha sat on the couch with Clint's shirt on as she watched him bend in front of the fireplace with a pan in his hand. "I don't think this is going to work."<p>

"Sure it will," he said dismissively.

"You're pluckiness is commendable, Barton, but I really don't think this'll work."

"Shut up, Romanoff. My brother and I used to do this all the time when we were kids."

"Yeah, but you're not a kid anymore. When's the last time you did this? Fifty years ago?"

"Real fucking funny, Nat."

"You're welcome."

"Popping popcorn the old-fashioned way is an art. Something that all Iowans need to do at some point."

Natasha folded her legs up beneath her and pulled the sleeves of his flannel over her hands, lifting her eyebrows in response. "I'm not an Iowan."

"But your partner is, so you are by association." Clint leaned back on his heels and surveyed the fire. "I think it's going well."

"Then why isn't it popping?" Natasha countered. Right on cue, a pop came from inside the closed pan, and Clint turned over his shoulder to give her one of the biggest, smuggest asshole smirks she'd even seen on his face. She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. You just got lucky this time."

Clint's smirk spread into a grin. "Well, yeah, I got lucky, too."

Natasha let out a groan, and he chuckled, turning back to face the fire as the popcorn popped. When he couldn't see her, Natasha's mouth turned up into a quiet smile. She didn't know what it was exactly that was different about him, but there was definitely something different. The way he moved was more relaxed, the way he spoke, even the way he looked at her—he was just different here on the farm.

That being said, she could sense a quiet underlying tone of pain beneath everything he did. She didn't need him to tell her that it was because of the memories inside this house. She didn't need him to tell her about the ghosts he saw around every corner. She knew. She understood. Even though she'd only been there for 24 hours with pure clarity on her mind, she could see his quiet pain. Yes, he was relaxed, and he was more open than usual, but he was also hurting more. Only Clint would be able to hurt this deeply when he was opening up this much, she thought as she looked at him. Crouched in front of the fire, he looked like the little boy he must have been when he'd lived here all those years ago. He looked strong and lethal the way he always did, but he also looked young and innocent as he waited for the popcorn to finish. She could picture him clearly as a little boy, doing this with his brother, eagerly watching and waiting for it to be done so they could eat.

Eventually, the popcorn was ready, and Clint transferred it from the pan into the large bowl he'd set beside him on the floor. "I'm going to run this to the kitchen, and then I'll be right back."

Natasha took the bowl from him and sat still in her spot on the couch as she waited for him to return. Within seconds, he was back with both melted butter and salt in his hands. She smiled as she watched him put the finishing touches on the popcorn. You could take the chef out of his fine New York kitchen, but you couldn't take the New York kitchen out of the chef, she thought with a smirk. Once he was pleased with his mixture, he dropped down beside her and let her place the bowl in between them.

"Do you have any pictures from when you were a kid?" she asked suddenly. Clint glanced at her curiously and gave a vague shrug.

"I guess so," he said.

"You guess?" she questioned, lifting her eyebrows to show that she was calling bullshit. Again, Clint shrugged.

"I mean, I know they exist, but I don't know where they are," he replied. "If they haven't been blown away in a tornado or some shit, they're probably stuffed somewhere in the attic."

"I'd like to see them sometime," Natasha said. Clint paused, his hand in the popcorn bowl, and he looked at her. "Only when you're ready for me to. At some point. Doesn't have to be today or even this year. Even this decade if you're not ok with it. Just sometime."

She half-expected him to make some kind of short response, but to her surprise, he just nodded. "Ok. Sometime."

"I'd like to see what your brother looks like, too. Never seen him before," Natasha added. Clint's slow smile returned, mixing into a half-grimace, and he wrinkled his nose at her.

"He's nothing special," he said.

"I'd still like to see him." Natasha took a few pieces of popcorn in her hand and popped them into her mouth. Clint watched her green eyes grow large with surprise, and she looked at him with wide-eyed surprise. "Oh, this is good."

"Isn't it?" he asked excitedly. "It's the best. You can't get better than homemade like this."

"Oh, shit. Oh, wow. Yeah, this is good." Natasha chewed it. "Wow."

"Yep. It was always a treat for Barney and me to be able to do this," Clint replied, smiling. "Even our mom enjoyed doing it with us." He paused for a few seconds and took another bite of popcorn. "We didn't have very many happy times here…especially my mom…but the happy times we _did _have…they were pretty ok."

"You know, I was just thinking that I don't know much about your childhood. Which is fine. That's not a criticism, especially since you don't know very much about mine at all, either. Even if you did know more about mine, it's still not a criticism because we all have pain in our lives, and yours…your pain…it's not easy to deal with, let alone talk about. But whenever you _do _want to talk about it…I don't suck at listening," Natasha said quietly. Clint stared at her for a few seconds without saying anything, and for a moment, she thought that he was going to brush it off or get defensive, two of the most common reactions to talking about his childhood, but he nodded.

"Ok," he said. Leaning over her kissed her on the cheek and rested his head against hers for a few brief seconds. "I'll remember that."

_You don't have to face these ghosts alone_, Natasha wanted to say.

_You don't have to be in pain by yourself_, she longed to tell him.

_You are never alone, my love_, she thought to speak.

Instead, she took another bite of popcorn and smiled at him, falling a little bit more in love with him as she did.


	6. Adjustment

**Shoutouts to MissSunshine, beverlie4055, pengineer, yornma, clintashainthetardis, EpicPackage, josmi1351, Jo, SorchaRossin, Guest, AmeliaSkellig, Rosay Chere Khann, Guest, Guest, JustForFun45, MaddieFayeth96, and Guest for reviewing!**

**Oh my God, I know it's been so long since I updated. I had end of the semester finals and papers to do, and I fell so behind in writing! Thankfully, I'm on winter break, so I should be back to updating on my schedule =) So sorry for how long it's taken me, but I so greatly appreciate y'all's patience! I'm hoping you guys haven't abandoned this fic just yet!**

**Little bit of everything in this one, but now we're going to see more of life on the farm =) Also, if you want a better image of how Natasha looks with her dyed hair, I'm totally going off of Scarlett Johansson's look in We Bought a Farm. She was stunning in that movie, and her hair looks amazing in it!**

**For extra emotions, listen to "Run" - Daughter =)**

**As always, please leave your thoughts and opinions! Hopefully you guys have still stuck around! So sorry again for the delay!**

**Enjoy! =)**

* * *

><p>Chapter 6<p>

"I think I'm going to start working on the farm," Clint said out loud as Natasha lay curled up in front of him on the couch.

"Yeah?" she asked, almost asleep.

"Yeah. I mean…might as well, right? We don't know how long we're going to be here. Wouldn't hurt to get some farming in," he said. Natasha rolled back just a little bit so she could look at him more clearly. He didn't remember when she'd decided to put on his plain t-shirt, but he loved when she wore his shirts like that. She looked stunning in them, and he loved to tell her so.

"I guess so," she replied thoughtfully. "Farming, though? That doesn't really seem like you. Then again, none of this is exactly _us_."

"What are you talking about?" Clint mumbled, nudging her with his wrist as he draped it over her waist. "The farming life is _so _us. The spy thing hasn't been us—that was merely a distraction…a stop on the way to our ultimate goal in life."

"Ugh. God. Maybe it has," Natasha answered with a laugh, running her free hand down her face.

"So what do you think?" Clint asked. "At the start of the week, I'll start it back up and get into the swing of things. There's still a lot of shit about this place I don't know, and it'd be good to figure it out. Never know when we'll have to go as a farmer and his wife as an undercover position."

"I doubt we'll ever have to do that," Natasha protested with an amused grin.

"Yeah, well, I didn't think I'd ever have to go undercover as a massage therapist, and guess who spent two weeks giving horny old women massages," Clint grumbled. Natasha laughed out loud then and turned on her back even more to face him directly. The couch was small and didn't fit the both of them easily, but neither spy complained, Clint noticed. He didn't mind that he was being pressed into the very back of the couch while Natasha almost hung off the edge; if anything, it made her scoot back into him even more, giving them another excuse to be as close as possible.

"Ok, you have a point," she conceded. "We may someday have to go as farmer people."

"I'm pretty sure farmer people isn't politically correct, Nat."

"Whatever, Clint."

"So it looks like I'm doing this."

"And it looks like I'm going to start a garden as soon as I weed through the SHIELD stuff," Natasha replied with a mildly annoyed tone to her voice. Clint raised his eyebrows, and he couldn't fight off his grin.

"A garden," he repeated. "So you're really doing that."

"Got to do something to look the part. If I'm not going to learn how to knit, it might as well be a garden. Besides, who knows? I could be awesome at it. You could be the world's best farmer man, and I could be the world's best gardener woman." Her voice dripped with sarcasm, and it only made Clint smile even more. He tightened his arm around her.

"So," he said after a few moments of silence. "This is our life now."

"Yeah," Natasha replied, falling quiet with him. "It is."

"How the hell did we go from being top agents for the government to farmers?" he murmured.

"Good fucking question." Natasha nestled deep into his arms. A look crossed her face that didn't escape Clint's notice, and he frowned when he saw it.

"You ok?" he asked.

"Yeah. Just…processing. Still doesn't seem real." She frowned up at him, her eyes staring at him as if she expected him to have an answer to a question she refused to voice to him. Clint lifted a hand and placed his thumb in the center of her eyebrows to smooth out the small wrinkles.

"Trust me. I understand. We're here in my childhood home because our lives have fallen apart. Not exactly something I could've seen coming." He pulled his hand away and let it fall down the side of her face while she lifted her hand and put it on his.

"Me neither," she replied. Clint smiled at her, refusing to let the memories of their lives ruin this day he'd had with her. He leaned forward and kissed the spot on her forehead he'd just smoothed out.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Yeah?"

"At least we have each other, right?"

Natasha closed her eyes. "Right."

* * *

><p>The next week didn't even seem as though it were a part of Clint and Natasha's life. After spending her entire life as a spy for both good guys and bad guys, Natasha felt like she'd seen and done everything under the sun; however, she didn't realize how wrong she was until that week on Clint's farm had come and gone. For starters, Clint was up before the crack of dawn. Clint Barton was a man who never woke up before noon unless he was forced to, and whenever he was required to wake up at such a "fucking ungodly fucking hour," he couldn't stop bitching about it. But Clint on the farm was a man who got up before Natasha even started stirring. Clint on the farm got up early and came back around 8:00 A.M. for breakfast with sweat staining his shirt and a smile painting his face. He never told her where he went or what he did, but Natasha knew. She could smell the barn and the animals on him; she could smell the fresh air.<p>

And while Clint busied himself with whatever it was he did, Natasha spent her time going over the monstrous number of SHIELD files that she'd leaked to the Internet. First and foremost, she read the files that had been leaked on her and Clint. She wasn't surprised by the information SHIELD had on them—she knew most of it, anyway—but it was strange and uncomfortable to know that the rest of the world had this information, too. Every person who read these files would know about her past and the things she'd done, just as they would know about Clint's past.

The addresses of both her and Clint's safehouses were available to the entire world, meaning that by now, HYDRA would have likely destroyed every single location. She'd known that leaking this information would be a risky move—she'd known it when she'd made the call to do it, and she'd known it when she'd sat down at the beginning of the week to start weeding through all of the information; yet, she couldn't help biting her lip as she looked at the repercussions of her actions.

Natasha had been sitting on the couch for three hours straight by the time she decided she deserved a break for the day. She set the laptop to the side and stood up, stretching her stiff muscles and yawning as she arched her back and lifted her arms up over her head. Her newly short blonde hair brushed over her ears, and she lowered her hands to tuck it back in place.

The decision to dye her hair hadn't been a difficult one. She was so used to dyeing her hair that she'd looked in the mirror, noticed that people would recognize her bright red hair from TV, and taken Clint's truck out to downtown to buy hair dye, her hair tucked up under a ratty old baseball cap that Clint had dug out of the hallway closet. Natasha walked past the mirror on the wall in the living room, and she caught notice of herself with her blonde hair. God knew she loved her red hair, but she didn't look half-bad as a blonde, she thought.

She crossed into the kitchen, looking for something to do. Clint would be back in about 15 minutes, and he'd get breakfast going, just like he had every day over the past week. She looked around at the empty kitchen and made the decision to get started on breakfast to surprise Clint. Even though the archer was the cook between the two of them, Natasha had enough knowledge in the kitchen to get by on simple things. She could make breakfast decently enough; granted, it wasn't as good as Clint's breakfast, but she could still cook it.

Glancing down at her shirt, she noticed it was one she didn't want to mess up by cooking eggs. Call it stupid to feel worried over ruining her clothes when she didn't have anywhere to go, see, or impress while here on the farm, but she would be damned if she destroyed a shirt because grease stained it. That being said, she was more than happy to destroy one of Clint's. Lithely, she jogged up the stairs and into the bedroom they'd been sharing, grabbing one of his t-shirts from the questionably dirty pile that seemed to grow every day at the foot of their bed.

After she'd changed her shirt, she started walking back down the hall to go down the stairs and get started on breakfast when she noticed that the door at the end of the hall was barely cracked open. She paused and looked at it, wondering if it'd been open earlier that day. Normally, she didn't miss small details like that, but considering the fact that looking at tiny details a hallway away wasn't something on the front of her mind when she headed downstairs early in the morning to start weeding through SHIELD files, she didn't put much thought into why she'd missed it.

Instead, she crossed towards the door with the intent of shutting it. However, her spy instincts kicked in, and she cracked the door open just to make sure that no one was hiding inside. Sure enough, the room was empty. It was a small bedroom, nothing particularly spectacular or outstanding about the enclosed space, but it grabbed Natasha's attention. Flipping the lights on, she glanced around the room. There really wasn't anything special about it. The room was just a room. All the furniture looked as though it had been there since the house had been built, and the paint on the walls hadn't yet faded.

Across the room, a dresser drawer was open just the slightest bit. Natasha crossed towards it to shut it without thinking twice. As she put her hands on the edge of the drawer, she noticed a paper inside. Her instinct told her not to look, to shut the drawer and walk away, but her training and her curiosity got the better of her, and she opened the drawer just enough to look at the paper.

It was a report card. An old report card, but it was an elementary school report card nonetheless. Natasha frowned as she stared at it. And that was when she saw the name. Written at the top of the report card was: BARTON, CLINTON FRANCIS. Natasha knew she should shut the drawer—she knew she should turn and walk the hell away because this piece of paper wasn't for her eyes, but she didn't. She just looked at the paper.

It was a Kindergarten report card detailing Clint's progress throughout the year. From what Natasha could tell, he hadn't done very well in anything. The only subject that had earned him something about a C or a D had been P.E., which he'd gotten an A in. Shocked, Natasha skimmed over the report until she got to the very bottom where there were comments.

_Since Clint's most recent injury, he hasn't been focusing very well in school. He misses a lot of what people are saying, and he doesn't bother to stay on task. He gets distracted very easily, making it difficult for him to complete his assignments. However, Clint excels at P.E., and he's one of the best athletes in our Kindergarten class. He has the sweetest disposition, and he tries to please his teachers. We would like to meet with you to discuss our next plan of action for pulling Clint's grades up, particularly his reading_.

Natasha frowned. Judging by the date on the report card, Clint wouldn't have been older than five years old. Five years old and failing most of his classes. Five years old with a "most recent injury." She felt her throat tighten up as she realized that at such a young, innocent age when Clint should have been receiving praise for his early work in Math and Science, two things Natasha _knew _he was great at, he had received failing grades and comments about his "most recent injury."

She was so busy rereading the teachers' written comments that she didn't hear Clint come up the stairs until it was too late. She started to push the sheet of paper back into the drawer, hurriedly fumbling with the old, creaky drawer as it got stuck, but Clint was already in the doorway.

"Nat?" he asked, confused. The sound of his hard, labored breathing and the smell of his sweat filled the room. Natasha turned over her shoulder and saw him standing still, his arms folded over his expanding chest as he inhaled. "What are you doing?"

"The door was open," Natasha said, trying not to show her wide alarm. "I didn't remember it being open, so I came to shut it."

"You didn't have to come into the room to shut the door." Clint frowned. He wasn't letting this go, and Natasha saw it in the way he held his face so tense and blank underneath his frown.

"I saw the drawer open, and I came in close it," Natasha explained. Her stomach tightened, and she swallowed hard. This feeling she had was what it was like to get caught doing something she shouldn't have been doing in the first place; judging by Clint's facial expression, her suspicion was confirmed. He pressed his lips together tightly and glanced around the room.

"I was in here earlier," he replied without expressing anything as to how he was feeling. "Must have forgotten to shut the drawer and the door."

"It's fine. I had it," Natasha said.

"What were you looking at?" Clint asked, still not letting the issue go. Natasha could tell by how he didn't move from the doorway that he knew she'd been looking through something. Natasha let out a quiet exhale without looking away from him.

"I caught sight of a paper in the drawer, and I looked at it," she admitted quietly. "It was a report card from when you were a kid."

Clint shifted his jaw to the side. "Why are you looking through my things?"

"Clint, I wasn't. I just caught sight of the paper as I was closing the drawer, and my investigating instincts kicked in. I shouldn't have looked," Natasha said quickly. If she apologized right up front, there was a chance that Clint wouldn't be so angry. As she studied his reaction, she couldn't tell if he were about to get all pissy and accusing when he wasn't about to back down from a fight or if he were going to act like it didn't bother him, even though he would get extra passive aggressive until he got all of his feelings off his chest.

Finally, Clint sighed and ran a hand over his still shining, sweaty face. "Please don't."

"I'm sorry." Natasha frowned. "I shouldn't have."

"Damn right," Clint snapped uncharacteristically. Natasha lifted her eyebrows up, the dyed dark blond arches reaching up towards her hairline.

"Clint," she said. "I'm sorry. I didn't—"

"Natasha, I really don't want to have this conversation. Can you—can we just have breakfast? I have some toast going downstairs," Clint interrupted. Natasha's eyes scanned over Clint's face, searching for any kind of indication as to what was going on in his head, but when his face didn't move in the slightest, she stepped forward.

"So you're going to do the passive aggressive thing until we go at each other's throats so much you finally snap," she said, knowing that challenging him like this was a risk. Suddenly, Clint's blue eyes flashed, and his face drew downward into a tight frown.

"Natasha, please," he sighed, exhausted. "We've had such a good week here so far. I really, _really_ don't want to talk about this right now."

"Is this because I was going through your things or because I found something from your childhood?" Natasha demanded. Clint's body instantly tensed up, and his face turned from tired to angry.

"I'm not going to talk about my fucking childhood right now," he snapped. "Can you quit fucking pushing me?"

"I'm not trying to push you, Clint, I'm trying to figure out why—"

"This isn't your damn house, Natasha, ok? This is _my _house. _I'm _the one who owns it, and _you're _the one who's staying here because I'm letting you. Please don't go through my fucking drawers." Clint finished speaking before he could even begin to think about what he'd just said. He watched Natasha's face change, a look of shock overtaking her features before melting away into hurt and then anger.

"Fine," she said flatly. "It's your house. I won't go through your shit. Can I go finish seeing what else of our fucked up lives has leaked onto the Internet?"

"Whose fault was that, Nat?" Clint asked before he could stop himself. He stepped away from the door so Natasha could move past. She was halfway down the hall before she stopped and whirled around to glare at him.

"You know what? I'm sorry I went through your things. I'm sorry that I'm apparently intruding in your house, and I didn't realize it. I'm sorry for whatever I've done to put you in this foul fucking mood, but this moody out-of-nowhere shit is exactly that: bullshit," she hissed. "God, SHIELD's collapsed, and we're here on this fucking farm in the middle of nowhere, and we can't even stay under the same roof for longer than a week without something going to shit!"

"Don't even—"

"I already apologized, Clint. I feel terrible. What else do you want me to do or say?" Natasha demanded. Clint stayed quiet. "Alright. That, too. See you when I'm done figuring out this shit."

Natasha stormed down the stairs and back into the living room while Clint followed suit, only stopping in the kitchen to grab some toast before sweeping out the door. As Natasha settled back down onto the couch, Clint's shirt clinging to her body, she tried to wrap her mind around what had just happened. They didn't fight like that—not she and Clint. The two of them were always so in sync, so open with each other. Jesus, they'd been together long enough to know that keeping things from each other didn't work, at least outside of work. Being a SHIELD agent came with the need to keep secrets and hold classified pieces of information close and quiet. She could do that. Clint could do that. They could keep secrets from each other when it came to clearance levels and SHIELD shit. But between the two of them? That wasn't like them.

But if Clint decided that he wanted to start shutting her out, then ok, she decided as she flipped her laptop open. She pulled up the SHIELD files and started scrolling through them, reading over files and going to all the different documents she needed to in order to understand. Clint might not want her to understand what had just happened or what exactly had been going on in his head at that moment, but she could always figure out hard data. SHIELD might be dissolved, she thought, but at least she had hard facts. At least she had someone's secrets, even if they didn't belong to the person she wanted them to.

* * *

><p>Clint hopped back into his pickup truck and started to drive back to the cow barn across the field. His stomach was tight with anger and his chest loaded with guilt as he thought about Natasha's face when he'd snapped at her. He hadn't snapped at her like that in a long time. Sure, they had their spats and their arguments, but it wasn't a typical thing for them to get vicious with each other, and that was precisely what he'd been just then.<p>

He shoved the toast into his mouth and took another bite of it, navigating around the edge of where one of the cornfields started. He'd finished up taking care of the horses that morning, and now he had to make his rounds in the cow barn and the cow fields. As far as the other farm workers were concerned, he was just the new guy. They'd known from the very start of the week when he'd shown up looking out of place and mildly uncomfortable that he was Clint Barton, the owner of the Barton Farm, but it hadn't taken too long for them to warm up to his presence.

Clint wasn't a farmer. He wasn't. He didn't feel as though he were particularly good at it, nor did he see himself living in this life forever. However, he liked the work. He enjoyed listening to what the more experienced workers had to say about the farm and the weather, and he particularly enjoyed listening to what they had to say about the animals. He'd always liked the animals, he remembered. Back when he'd been a boy, the farm hadn't been anywhere near as big as it was today, but he could remember animals.

He pulled up to his typical stop by the side of the barn and leapt out, the toast completely devoured and gone. Going over his mental checklist, he started preparing himself for everything he had to do before lunch. God, he thought, he could remember a detailed Level Nine mission, but he couldn't fucking remember all the steps in manually milking a fucking cow.

"Barton?" A voice called out. Clint looked to the right and narrowed his eyes, squinting through the morning sun to see David Wheeler, the guy who'd basically been running the farm for the past two years, walking towards him. "You're not supposed to be back for another hour, I thought. Wasn't expecting to see you until 9ish."

"Well, I thought I'd come get a head start." Clint shrugged. "Still trying to figure out the whole…milking a cow thing."

"Isn't rocket science, man." David grinned. "How many years you owned this place again? Said you grew up here, and you don't know how to milk a cow?"

"Did when I was a kid, but it's been a very long time since I've had the opportunity to, uh, come back to my roots, I guess." Clint shrugged nonchalantly. "But yeah, I thought I'd just go ahead and get started. I mean, I really do feel confident on the milking a cow thing, but there's still a lot I don't know, and I'd like to figure all that out as quickly as possible."

"And the wife? She was glad to give up her breakfast with you so you can get a head start?" David asked. Clint's mouth twisted to the side at the mention of Natasha. He and Natasha had decided that it was just easier to refer to themselves as husband and wife—it would make sense with how long they'd been together, and it would create fewer questions and suspicions to just say they were married.

"Yeah, she had some stuff to take care of, too," Clint said in an offhand way. "So I remember you saying you guys needed some spots in the barn repaired. I can probably handle that. I'm pretty good at fixing things."

David eyed Clint a little more curiously. "Yeah? You're good with tools?"

"Something like that. I can generally figure out what I don't know when it comes to that. Always been pretty good with hands on things," Clint explained. Honestly, all he wanted to do was just get his mind off of the fight he'd had with Natasha—that fucking fight that had come out of fucking nowhere—and if he couldn't shoot his bow and arrows until his fingers were raw and bleeding, he wanted to fix something.

"We've had some problems with the roof, and a few of our fences out in the field aren't doing so hot," David said, shrugging. "You could take care of those if you wanted. The cows'll be fine."

"Right. The cows," Clint mumbled. "There are 20 cows here."

"Yep. Twenty cows that make some of the best organic milk in Iowa. Shit, they make the best organic milk in the fucking country," David said with a snort. "Hey, I meant to ask you earlier, but Emily was wanting to invite you and Nat over for dinner this weekend. We'd love to have you two as company. Isn't often that we get to have dinner with the owner."

Clint smiled and thought about Natasha. If she was speaking to him, he wouldn't mind going to dinner, but if she _wasn't _speaking to him, that'd prove for an awkward dinner. But he didn't say any of that. Instead, he just smiled and nodded. "Yeah. I'll talk it over with the wife and see what she says. I'm sure she'd love to."

"Awesome. I'll show you where those fences need to be fixed, and then I'll meet up with you a little later." David started walking, and Clint followed. Clint couldn't help feeling like a damn follower here; all he did was follow what David or any of the other farm hands told him to do, but considering the fact that he didn't really know what the fuck he was doing the way that they did, he didn't have a right to complain. It was just strange, he thought. Sure, he could follow orders. He'd followed them most of his life. Hell, at SHIELD he still followed orders as if they were a lifeline since, well, they kind of were. But here it was different. As Clint walked behind his lead worker, he couldn't help thinking that everything was different. He just needed to learn how to adjust.


	7. Lies

**Shoutouts to beverlie4055, pengineer, Jo, AmeliaSkellig, Black Betty, Guest, Guest, SorchaRossin, and Miss Sunshine for reviewing!**

**Uh oh, looks like I lost a lot of you with how long it took me to review last time! Thank you to everyone who still gave feedback, and I hope that the rest of y'all return, too!**

**I know last chapter was a bit painful, so if you're looking for a reconciliation, you may or may not find that in this chapter =)**

**For extra emotions, listen to "Hello My Old Heart" - The Oh Hellos. This is one of my all-time favorite songs, and I'm so excited to use it for this chapter because it's so fitting.**

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**Enjoy! =)**

* * *

><p>Chapter 7<p>

Clint liked work. Even though he loved a lazy day with nothing to do and nowhere to go, he liked working, whether it was doing undercover work or hands-on hard labor. He just liked it. He liked the easy rhythm, the mental distraction, and the physical exhaustion that came from it. As he swung his hammer down onto one of the last few nails on the current section of fence he was repairing, he thought about Natasha for the millionth time that hour. He'd been able to stop thinking about her for a little while when he'd been in the heat of his repairs, but now that he was nearing the end, and the sun was starting to set, he couldn't help thinking about her.

He knew he'd fucked up. He knew his outburst had upset her, and well, he didn't blame her. She deserved to be upset because of the things he'd said. Clint stopped hammering the nail, and he looked at it, quietly sighing. Being back at the farm was both a good thing and a bad thing for him, he knew. It was good because Natasha was right—it cleared his mind and relaxed him in a way nothing else could. The farm was familiar, the one place left on Earth that was completely safe for him. But then again, it brought back memories that he'd worked so hard to keep buried beneath hard outer layers of training and better memories.

Taking a moment, he looked around the land. Every acre of this farmland was full of bright, vivid memories that had lied to him about going away. He'd thought that he could be here without thinking back to his childhood, but now that he was actually here without worry of injuries or mind control filling his brain, he couldn't fight the memories. The cow barn hadn't been a working cow barn back when he was a kid. It'd just been an old, run down barn that he and his brother had played in to pass the time. When their father had been on a particularly bad bender, they'd used the old barn as a hiding place, too.

When Clint looked around the fields, he could practically see his brother and him tumbling around and fighting each other, swinging sticks as play swords, shouting commands as they played Robin Hood…everything. This farm was his childhood, no matter how much he tried to deny it. And unfortunately, he thought as he ran a red-speckled bandanna across his forehead, his childhood came with bad emotions, and those emotions were what had caused him to lash out at Natasha earlier that day.

Quickly, he finished hammering the rest of the nails in place, and then he stood up with his toolbox in hand. All he had to do now was check in with the rest of the workers, send a heads up that he was done for the evening, and turn in. David liked finishing up in the evenings, so when Clint had offered to take over for him, David had said no. Just as Clint liked to work, David did, too. When Clint had first started pitching in on the farm, he'd had Natasha run a background check on David. Naturally, the background check had turned up clean, but the archer learned more about the farmer who'd set to making the Barton Farm his personal mission.

David was married with a wife and a newborn little girl. He'd lived his whole life in Waverly, Iowa. In fact, he and his wife Emily had gone to Kindergarten with Clint, but neither of them seemed to remember, which frankly, Clint was very happy about. He didn't like the thought of anyone remembering him from when he was in Kindergarten, and that thought again brought Clint full circle back to thinking about Natasha. God, he had a lot of making up to do, he thought.

He worked his way down to the cow barn, mumbled his goodbyes to the few workers who were left, and then he was in his pick up truck, set back to the small farmhouse back on the other side of the giant cornfields. Hopefully, Natasha was there, and hopefully, she'd listen to him. He didn't want to chance his luck by hoping that she wasn't still mad—knowing her, she could hold a grudge just as long as he could. Smoothly, he maneuvered the pick up truck back into place outside the front of the house and eased out. His body wasn't the least bit sore, but by God, it was tired. All he wanted to do these days was pass out on the couch and hope that the next morning didn't come.

Clint walked up the stairs of the porch and through the front door. It didn't take him long to find Natasha; she was still in place on the couch just like he'd left her, though this time Noelle was curled up happily beside her. At his arrival, she didn't look up or acknowledge his presence at all. Inwardly, Clint winced. He deserved that.

"Nat?" he said quietly. Finally, she glanced up over her laptop and picked up a pen and pad beside her to quickly scribble something of interest down. "Hey…I want to apologize for earlier. I said some really shitty things to you."

"You did," Natasha agreed. This time Clint outwardly winced.

"I know," he replied.

"Did it take you all day to reach that conclusion?" Natasha kept writing on her notepad.

"Yeah, actually," Clint admitted with reluctance. "I spent most of the day being mad, but then I realized how stupid I was…how stupid I'd been to yell at you. You didn't—fuck. That was all me. That was me being an asshole and speaking without thinking."

"You're not wrong," Natasha quipped.

"Ok, I deserved that," Clint said, trying not to feel frustrated. He _did _deserve that, and honestly, if Natasha didn't speak to him for the next few days, he wouldn't blame her. "God, I was fucking horrible to you, Nat. I'm sorry. I am. I mean that, too."

She stopped writing and looked up at him, her face blank. She didn't say anything, nor did she move, but Clint knew that this was her way of telling him that she was listening, and he'd better make it good if he were going to keep talking. He took a few steps forward, and when she didn't make a move to beat his ass, he took several more until he could sit down at the coffee table across from her. Her eyes were large and blank as she looked at him, expectant and full of something close to impatience.

"This farm…it does things to me. This house…these barns…hell, even the fucking horses. Seeing it all again and so intimately brings back memories from when I was a kid. And I don't need to tell you that they're bad memories. You know how my childhood was, Nat. You _know_." He looked down at his hands, still feeling her eyes boring into his skull. "That room you were in earlier was my room when I was a kid. I'd gone in there earlier this morning to find some documents I needed, and I guess I didn't shut the door all the way. All of this is my fault, Nat. And I'm sorry for yelling at you. And for everything I said. Again."

Natasha pressed her lips together for a second, and Clint prepared himself for the worst response from her. When Natasha was angry, she was unpredictable. She was either remarkably forgiving or wouldn't let go of it, and there was rarely an in between. If anything, he thought of himself as the in between—while Natasha could shrug her anger off or hold onto it with all the stubbornness in the world, he was the middle ground by acting like he wasn't upset when he really was. She hadn't been wrong when she'd accused him of taking the passive aggressive approach that morning.

"Well, I'm a guest in your house, so I promise it won't happen again," she said. Clint felt his face fall. She was still mad.

"I deserve that, too," he said.

"Clint, I get that this is your house. This isn't my area. I don't know anything about farming or gardening or knitting or whatever the hell it is I'm supposed to do here. I don't know anything about this life of yours that you had before me, and really, I'm ok with that. I promise I am. Just don't remind me of it, ok?" she asked icily. Clint sighed, still mad at himself, and he shook his head.

"Nat, that's the thing. Everything of mine is yours," he said haltingly, trying to find the right words. "And that includes the farm. So what if you don't know shit about farming? This place is still yours. It's mine…so it's yours, too."

Natasha looked down at her notepad and didn't say anything for a few seconds. While she wasn't looking, Clint studied her body language. She was closed off from him, leaning back into the couch to create distance, and she had her right arm folded slightly over her mid-section to put a physical barrier in between them. She was still angry.

"I found some things that I thought you'd be interested in," she announced, completely changing the subject. Clint tried not to let his disappointment show across his face. He hadn't expected her to easily forgive him after what he'd said, but he'd hoped. Pulling his physical features back together, he leaned forward just a little bit to show that he was listening.

"Yeah?" he asked in an expectant tone.

"Nothing on Palmer. No word. Absolutely nothing. Kathleen's also off the radar, too. It's like they up and disappeared," Natasha said. Her light brown eyebrows drew in tightly together as she spoke. Taking his reaction off of hers, Clint frowned.

"And Jade?" he asked. Natasha shook her head again.

"Nothing on Jade. I tracked everyone I could think of. Palmer's parents, Kathleen's parents…the kid has disappeared, too," she said.

"How the fuck is that even possible?" Clint felt his disappointment melt away as it was replaced with disbelief.

"How the fuck can an entire family disappear like that, and no one can find them? Especially you. You know your way around computers," he said. As if she weren't angry with him, a small smirk melted over her face.

"Clint, this is Palmer," she said with a mild snort. "Felix Palmer. Director of the Tech Division in SHIELD. Like, Director of the _entire _Tech Division of SHIELD. He can easily wipe his electronic footprints and then disappear without a trace. If I can pull something like that, he most definitely can, and he'll be better at it than I am."

Clint's frown drew down even further. "I know…I just…I would've thought he'd leave some kind of clue or—or something."

"Palmer isn't you, Clint. He doesn't pull the same tricks you do," Natasha answered blithely. "Anyway, I thought you'd want to know. He's basically untraceable as of right now."

"What do you think that means?" Clint asked, his worried face sliding into place.

Natasha paused for a second. "You want to know if I think he's HYDRA?"

"Yeah."

She stayed quiet for a few extra seconds as she thought about it. "You know…I've thought long and hard about it. I looked at his actions all throughout the years that we've known him. I feel like I've gotten to know him pretty well, and I mean, yeah, at the end of the day, I trust him. He's had my back for years. But then I thought about it some more, and I realized that there were other people I was close to trusting within SHIELD who turned out to be HYDRA. People that I hadn't even thought had the capability of being that level of fucked up. So honestly, Clint, I don't know. He could be SHIELD but is just trying to get off the grid to keep his wife and child safe, or he could be HYDRA, and he's lying low for a while."

Clint nodded, his frown still heavy, as he listened. When she was done talking, he inhaled slowly. "I don't think he's HYDRA. He…he can't be."

"Rumlow turned out to be HYDRA," Natasha said gently.

"Well, Rumlow's a piece of shit," Clint replied with a dismissive eye roll. "I've always thought he was a piece of shit."

"Me too. But still. He was one of SHIELD's top agents. God, Clint, I pulled so many fucking missions with him this past year. Since New York, right after Fury pulled together Steve's STRIKE team, I worked beside him for so long and had no fucking clue," Natasha said, her frustration evident. "I'm a spy. I'm supposed to—to know how to read people. How didn't I read it off of him? He wasn't just some asshole I knew in passing. I _worked _with him. Jesus."

"Does it surprise you that he's HYDRA? Knowing what you know now…does it surprise you?" Clint countered. Natasha's body seemed to drain as she processed his question. He watched her consider his words, and then she looked up—she looked him directly in the face, and she shook her head.

"No," she said.

"What about Sitwell?" Clint pushed. "Does _that _surprise you?"

Natasha didn't hesitate. "No."

"Would it surprise you about Palmer?" Clint asked, though this time he looked slightly less confident as he asked the question, as if he were asking to validate his own thoughts instead of hers. "Would you feel surprised at all to find out that he was HYDRA?"

"Yes," she answered honestly, her voice quiet. "I'd be very surprised."

"Ok. Ok, then I think we have a tentative answer. Jesus, Nat, he hates guns. He can't even look at one without blinking twice. I don't think he's HYDRA. If he's gone, it just means that he's keeping his family safe. Especially Jade. He's doing this to keep her safe," Clint reassured. Natasha held his gaze and nodded just once without looking away. Her face wasn't quite as distrustful as it'd been earlier, but she wasn't looking at him the way she normally would. "I guess we'll have to keep on the lookout for them. See if anything pops up that would be close to anything they'd do."

"There's more," Natasha said suddenly. "Not just that."

Clint let out a breath. "Ok. Hit me with it."

"You're not going to like it. Clint." Natasha's face grew just a little bit softer. "You're really, _really _not going to like it."

The archer's mouth seemed to swell shut, and his voice quit working as his blue eyes searched over her face. She'd broken plenty of bad news to him in the past, but she'd never looked quite like this. Hell, even when she'd told him that he'd been deafened, she hadn't worn the expression she currently held across her features.

"Ok," he said slowly. "What is it?"

"Your brother was being held in a SHIELD prison in Northern Canada, but he escaped," she said. Clint's face immediately went still with shock. His heart stopped beating, and his breathing slowed.

"My brother—he was—SHIELD got him?" he asked, stammering more than actually speaking. "When the—how—when the hell did SHIELD get him?"

"About two months ago. He was being held in a classified prison, but with the fall of SHIELD and HYDRA's takeover, most of the prisoners escaped. He was one of them," Natasha said. She carefully watched Clint's reaction; she'd known he wasn't going to take this well, and as each second passed, she realized that she'd been right.

"Wh—what?" he asked. "I don't—no. My brother wouldn't—why—SHIELD would've said something to me. They know that if anything at all happens that could somewhat concern Barney, they come to me. Right away. They know—they wouldn't—are you sure?"

"Yeah." Natasha spun her laptop around after clicking on a certain document she'd been saving at the bottom of the screen. "Barney Barton. That's him."

Clint took the laptop off her knees and put it on his own lap. His forehead scrunched up as he read over the file, and his blue eyes filled with a mixture of emotions Natasha had predicted to come over him. "No. God. Fuck. _Fuck_, Barney, what the hell have you gotten yourself into? He's too good to get caught like this. He wouldn't—no. He's way too good. _I _haven't even been able to catch him in the past."

"Was that because of his skill or because of your sentiment?" Natasha asked not unkindly. Clint shot her a sharp, cutting look, but he didn't say anything because she was right. He'd let Barney go every time they'd come into contact with each other over the years. However, that meant letting Barney beat the shit out of him, and so he'd always walked away from every confrontation with his brother with physical evidence.

"Why wouldn't anyone say anything to me?" he murmured out loud, more to himself than to Natasha.

"That prison has a high clearance level. We're not authorized to know what happens there," Natasha explained. Clint gave her another sharp look.

"That's not good enough," he said.

"It's not?" She lifted her eyebrows calmly and stared at him. "Clint, these are national secrets. If we didn't have the clearance to know what was going on in that location, we didn't have the clearance to know. But you know what? SHIELD's gone now. These are literally all of SHIELD's secrets. Right here on this laptop. Everything we've been told we couldn't know or didn't have the right to know is right here. So now you know, and now _we _know, and what we know is that Barney's disappeared into thin air again."

Clint felt the anger leave his body at her calm, rational words. How the hell was it that he'd said horrible things earlier to her, and yet she was the one who was taking care of him? Guilt flickered over his face, and he looked away from her, redirecting his gaze back to the laptop screen. "Just like Palmer."

"Just like Palmer," Natasha agreed. "But with more…illegal behind it. Don't give me that look, Clint. Your brother isn't known for volunteering at animal shelters and rallying to protect the ozone layer in his off time."

"Well…that's true," Clint conceded. "He's not a good guy. I'm not so far blinded by the fact that he's my brother to know SHIELD had good excuse to take him into custody. Hell, they should've disciplined me every time I let him go, but I just got lucky that they believed he really did get the better of me and beat my ass."

"So you admit that you let him go," Natasha pointed out. Clint twisted his mouth to the side.

"Not the time to focus on that confession," he said. "I want to find out where he's going and what he's doing. With SHIELD down, he'll be headed for safety."

"I know I've asked this before, but is there any chance he'll come here?" Natasha asked. Clint paused as he thought it over. There really wasn't any chance, he thought. Sure, there was always a tiny chance that Barney would come there, but with SHIELD and HYDRA being too hot, Barney was too smart to get mixed into any of that. More than anything, Barney would use this opportunity to get new aliases and new safehouses, much like they were doing. He wouldn't use the time to go after his baby brother.

"No," he said after a few moments. "No, I don't think he'll come here. If I know my brother, he'll try to start over. This is the perfect opportunity for him, too, so that's what he'll do."

"Ok." Natasha scribbled something else down on her notepad while Clint went back to the files and read over it. Clint saw something that caught his eye, and he frowned more deeply than he had all day.

"He was taken in on a thieving charge. Tried to steal something from The Fridge," he said.

"Does that come as a shock?"

"Hell no. No wonder SHIELD would put him in that classified prison."

"My sentiments exactly."

"David invited us over to his and Emily's place for dinner this weekend," Clint said suddenly. Natasha was thrown completely off guard, and she stopped writing whatever it was she was so intently scrawling out to look over at him with a hesitant expression on her face.

"Are we going?" she asked, her tone conveying that she really didn't want to.

"I told him most likely, yeah, but I was going to talk it over with you." Clint pushed a hand back through his hair. "Sorry. I just thought with our covers and everything, it'd be better to say yes than to say no. If we say no, it'll look suspicious. Waverly's big on being neighborly, Nat."

"No, I'm not mad that you said yes. You're right—it fits with our cover of friendly farm people." She tilted her head to the side, her blonde hair brushing over her shoulder. "Though really, this isn't a cover for _you_. It's more a cover for _me_."

"I'm not the one who made a big scene in front of Congress." Clint's mouth tugged up into a small smile as he spoke. He half-expected Natasha to get sour with him, angry for teasing her when she was still mad at him, but she gave him the tiniest half-smile in return.

"Fair enough," she said. "It's just going to feel weird with people calling me Nat. Only you, Maria, Steve, and a few others call me that."

"Well, if anyone gets suspicious, we can say it's short for Natalie. Even Natia," he said. "I kind of wasn't thinking when I told the guy who recognized me in town that your name was Natasha. Too late to try to switch your cover name now."

"It's fine." Natasha shrugged. "It'll just be weird. Anyway, as I was saying, I'm not mad you told them yes. It'll be fine. I'll be fine. We'll go and pretend like we're happy farmer people. No big deal."

"Are you upset?" Clint asked. He reached out and handed the laptop back to her, and she took it, setting it protectively on her lap before reaching out to scratch Noelle's head with an absentminded gesture.

"No," she said. "This is kind of our life now, Clint. It's fine. I mean it."

"David and Emily are nice people," Clint offered, as if that were any kind of consolation. He had to keep talking, he thought. Keep Natasha talking, and she might forget that she was mad—keep talking, and he might forget everything he'd just learned about Barney's escape. _Barney_, he thought in the very back corners of his brain, _where the hell are you_?

"Do they remember that they went to Kindergarten with you?" Natasha asked.

"No. Thankfully, they don't. I was worried they would, but David hasn't mentioned it, and the one time I saw Emily at the beginning of the week, she didn't seem to remember, either. She didn't say a word." Clint rubbed some dirt on the knee of his jeans as silence passed between them. He knew she was thinking about what he'd said earlier to her, and he felt guilt wash over him again as he replayed his words in his mind. Now that the adrenaline from finding out the news about Barney was starting to wane, he was left with his negative feelings towards himself. "I'm sorry, Nat. I am. I mean it."

"I know you are," she said without hesitating. "It's not like I doubt it or anything. I know you feel bad about saying what you did."

"Good." Despite the solid façade he wanted to hold up, Clint felt his face grow just a little soft as he looked at her. "I feel shitty."

"I can tell." Natasha looked away and down towards the cat beside her. The silence that followed between her and Clint wasn't necessarily awkward, but it wasn't entirely comfortable, either. She knew Clint was sorry—she knew he didn't mean it, but the fact of the matter was that he'd meant it at the time, and he'd been purposefully hurtful when he'd said the words. "I don't…I'm not used to…whoever you are this week."

Clint's face folded into slight hurt. "What? What do you mean who I am this week?"

"This side of you. This Clint…this version of you. I'm not used to it yet, and I need time to adjust to you here. You're a lot more different," she said.

"Nat, that's no excuse for me to lash out at you." He sounded troubled, and she looked back at him.

"It's not," she agreed. "I'm not saying it is. I'm saying that it's going to take me a while to remember that this place is full of painful memories for you. You're not going to act the way you normally would if we were at home—even if we were undercover in one of our safehouses in Hawaii, you wouldn't act this way." Clint opened his mouth. "Not a criticism. An observation."

"I feel like you're trying to excuse what I said," he said slowly. The corners of Natasha's mouth turned up in a smirk, and she shook her head, though she wasn't smiling because she was happy.

"I'm not," she said. "Trust me. I'm still upset by what you said. I just…God, I hate doing this talking thing."

Clint couldn't help laughing as he watched her sigh with frustration. "You've never liked talking about the awkward things like this."

"I haven't," she admitted as she ran a hand through her blonde hair. "I've always hated having these talks. You're the one who likes talking about your feelings."

He shrugged guiltily. "I have a lot of feelings."

"That you do," Natasha conceded. Her green eyes darted around his face, and then she tilted her head to the side. "I hate bananas, I love Frank Sinatra, and I loathe your stupid fucking Christmas sweaters."

Clint's face went slack as he realized what he was doing, and his mind raced as he mentally reviewed his options. "You hate bananas."

Natasha screwed up her face in disgust. "Ew, when have you ever seen me eat a banana? Clint, we've been together for close to 10 years. When have you _ever _seen me eat a banana?"

"Brazil mission. I think it was 2010 right before you went undercover for Stark. Mexico City mission. Back in 2011. I have a whole list."

"But those were _missions_. When have you seen _me_ eat a banana?" Natasha countered. Clint went quiet, running through as many years as he could in such a short time, and he came up short. "Exactly. You've never seen _me _eat a banana. They're disgusting."

"Wait…so you like my Christmas sweaters?" Clint asked in confusion. "You always complain about them." Natasha smiled and didn't say anything else. Realization hit Clint, and he shook his head, chuckling softly. "You fucking liar. All these years I've thought you hated them."

"Admit it. Part of the reason you wore them was to spite me because you hate sweaters. Only time you'll wear them is around Christmas," Natasha pointed out. Clint ran a thoughtful hand over his face and half-shrugged.

"You have a point. My turn," he said. He watched Natasha smile, and then he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I don't love you."

Every ounce of remaining hostility drained from Natasha's face. She looked at him in surprise and softness and quietness, and then she reached forward, the backs of her knuckles brushing over his cheekbone. Clint closed his blue eyes and leaned into her touch as she let the rugged but smooth skin of his face warm her palm.

"I don't love you, either."

"Never," Clint whispered.

_You are my greatest lie_, he wanted to tell her.

_You are my greatest truth_, he longed say.

_You will always be my greatest friend. My greatest person. And yes, my greatest lie. But you will always be my favorite lie, _he wanted to whisper.

And with the next word Natasha whispered back to him, she forgave him.

"Never."


	8. Return

**Shoutouts to pinoychick143, SorchaRossin, fezwearingjellybananas, Jo, josmi1351, CreativeDreamer98, pengineer, EpicPackage, Black Betty, MissSunshine, and sailorraven34 for reviewing!**

**Ok, guys, I see y'all slowly starting to come back to me ;)**

**This chapter is a bit of a filler at the beginning, but it has something pretty important towards the end that's about to switch things up just a tad!**

**I'm officially back to being on my updating schedule, but I won't be updating on Thursday since it's Christmas, and I don't update on holidays. However, I'll be back next Monday with an update, so I'm not going anywhere!**

**For extra emotions, listen to "Home from Home" - Roo Panes because it's a fun song for the first kind of fun part of the chapter!**

**As always, please keep leaving reviews and your thoughts! I'm glad more of you are coming back because y'all warm my heart! I hope everyone has an awesome holiday this week, even if you don't celebrate Christmas. I'll see y'all next Monday =)**

**Enjoy! =)**

* * *

><p>Chapter 8<p>

"Look happy. You look miserable."

"I _am _miserable."

"Come on. David and Emily are nice. You'll like them. This isn't any different than any other undercover mission we've had to go on."

"You promised me peace and quiet, Barton. Not family dinners with the neighbors."

"You look beautiful."

"Shut up." Natasha smoothed out the skirt of her dress while Clint put his hand on the small of her back, his other hand reaching up to knock on the door. She looked down at the dress she wore and bitterly noticed how it wasn't usually her style. After she and Clint left the farm, and she dropped the farmer's wife cover, she wouldn't be holding onto this thing much longer, she thought with a last disdainful glance towards it.

The door opened, and a small woman with long dark blonde hair peered out at the two assassins, her smile large and wide. "Clint! It's so nice to see you again! Come on in, the both of you. You must be Nat, Clint's wife? I'm Emily. I'm David's wife. David's back in the kitchen getting Mary Katherine settled in her high chair."

Out of habit, Natasha's green eyes scanned over Emily Wheeler, checking for any potential threat. She didn't expect to find anything suspicious about the woman, but she couldn't help what she'd been trained to do her whole life. So far, so good, she confirmed as she wasn't surprised to find that Emily appeared to be unarmed and thoroughly harmless. However, what _did _surprise her was Emily's warm hug and eagerness to welcome a stranger so genuinely into her home.

"Yes, I'm Nat," she said, hugging Emily back, attempting to make the embrace as warm as Emily's. _Well_, Natasha thought with a sigh, _this is new_. She caught Clint's eye over Emily's shoulder and tried to suppress her smile as he struggled to conceal his own laughter. They were both used to dealing with people who handed out hugs in order to feel the other person out; Natasha hugged people because it was a part of upperclass etiquette. Rich people hugged all the time to show fake affection towards each other, and that was just something she'd learned early on as a child in training.

"It's so nice to finally meet you!" Emily exclaimed, her smile still lighting up her face as she pulled back from Natasha. The newly blonde-haired assassin noticed the thick Midwestern accent, and she found herself smiling. Just earlier that day she'd noticed a little hint of it starting to slip into Clint's voice.

"It's nice to meet you, too," she politely returned. Lifting the bottle of wine in her hand, she offered up a smile. "We brought wine."

Emily's eyes widened, and her mouth fell open as she took the bottle. Examining it, her face melted into a touched smile, and she gave both Natasha and Clint a look. "Oh my goodness. This is so sweet. You shouldn't have. Really, you guys didn't have to bring anything."

"No, no, we wanted to," Clint insisted. "You invited us for dinner, and besides, after all the years your family has spent taking care of the farm, it's the least we could do."

"That is so thoughtful," Emily replied without her smile disappearing once. "Come on. We can go back to the dining room. David'll probably have Mary Katherine taken care of by now. You guys had perfect timing—dinner just came out of the oven."

"Excellent!" Clint remarked. He put his hand securely on Natasha's back again as they started walking down the hall to the dining room. With a quick glance up, Natasha saw how at ease he was. He didn't seem all that bothered by being here in someone else's house, someone's house that he'd known long, long ago. Between the two of them, she was the antsier one, and she didn't even know David and Emily.

They passed into the dining room and found David fixing the baby high chair and putting it in place. He heard them walk into the room and looked over his shoulder. "Clint Barton, it sure is nice to see you outside the farm."

"Yeah, I can agree to that. This is my wife, Nat. You met her briefly at the beginning of the week." Clint glanced at Natasha, who smiled just as brightly as Emily as she received her introduction.

"I've heard great things about you," she said. "Clint has nothing but praise for the work you've done around the farm in his absence."

"Please, you're flattering me," David said dismissively. He nodded towards the tiny baby in the seat. "Well, this is Mary Katherine. She's three months old, but she's already got a personality."

"My goodness, you are just beautiful, aren't you?" Clint softly exclaimed, his voice gentle and smooth. Natasha watched him cross towards the baby and look at her with genuine excitement. "Can I hold her? Is that ok?"

"If you're as good with babies as you are with fixing things around the farm, then hell yeah," David quipped. He lifted the tiny little girl out of the seat and passed her to Clint, who took her and held her as if he were holding the world's most breakable object. Natasha paused. She'd seen Clint with young kids before, but she'd never seen him hold a baby. She hadn't ever seen him look so tenderly and gently at such a small human being before, but now that she was watching him, she found that she couldn't look away.

"Hello, Mary Katherine," he said softly. "You are such a smart, beautiful, little girl. Oh my, yes, you are." Grinning, he looked up at David. "Man, I love babies."

_You do_? Natasha thought.

"He's great with them," Natasha said.

"Please, have a seat. Feel free to sit," Emily encouraged as she pointed to the dining room table nearby. "I've been dying to meet you for so long. It's hard to find friends here who aren't the same 100 people you grew up with. David mentioned that Clint had a wife, and I've literally been dying to have you two over for dinner. I'm just glad we were able to work it out."

"Yeah, me too. It'll be nice to know some people here," Natasha replied. She sat down at the table across from where Emily sat. Off to her right, she could still hear Clint gushing over the baby to David, and she couldn't help smiling, even though she tried to stop it. "Your daughter's gorgeous. You might want to watch her or else Clint will sneak off with her."

"We're certainly proud of her, alright." Emily took a glance towards Clint and David playing with the baby, and her smile grew soft. "She's our little miracle girl, we like to call her." She caught Natasha's confused expression and realized Natasha didn't know what she was talking about. "I was sick several years back, and the doctors told me I couldn't get pregnant afterwards, and yet…there she is."

Natasha felt an uncomfortable lump swell up in her throat, and she looked away from the sight of Clint clearly falling in love with the little baby girl so she could look directly at Emily. "That's amazing. I'm happy for you. She's just gorgeous."

"Thank you," Emily proudly answered. "But tell me about yourself. How did you and Clint meet? How long have you been married?"

Clint glanced back at them at the question and smiled encouragingly in Natasha's direction. They'd had this discussion a long time ago, but it was their first time saying it out loud to someone who might spread the information. Natasha tucked a piece of blonde hair back behind her ear and kept smiling. "Almost a year and a half. Still newlyweds kind of but not really."

"We met when I was in Chicago on business," Clint added in. "She was doing one of those yoga classes in the park, and I saw her and thought she was the most beautiful thing in the world."

"Stop," Natasha demurely murmured, blushing just right.

"What? It's true. After that, we just kind of…hit it off." Clint shrugged. Gently, he rocked Mary Katherine in his arms as if it were no big deal. "We spent a few years in the city but decided it was time to come back to the farm. City life can be crazy."

"Yeah, I definitely needed a bit of a break," Natasha added. "And what better way to take a break than coming back to the farm?"

"Have you never been here?" David asked curiously. Natasha shook her head.

"No. We've both been so busy over the years. I was a curator at an art museum in Chicago, so they were keeping me going, going, going. And Clint's the same. He was always busy, and whenever he needed to come back for things, that's when I couldn't go," she explained. She took a sigh and gave a small shrug. "But it's good to be here now. It's exciting to see this side of the world and his life."

"You know, we should have gone to school together," David said suddenly. For the first time that night, Clint's shoulder drew up just the tiniest bit in tension. If Natasha hadn't been the Black Widow, she wouldn't have noticed it, but she caught onto every small detail that conveyed his discomfort, and she definitely took note of how his shoulders rose up with tension. "I don't remember you, but I remember your brother."

"Oh," Clint mildly replied without giving anything away. "My brother. Yeah, we both went to school here. I only went here for Kindergarten, and he went here up through Third Grade until we both left after our parents died."

"Oh, yeah, I remember your brother," David remarked with a laugh. "I don't mean this in a bad way, Clint, but your brother knew how to pick a fight."

Clint started laughing in a good-natured way, and he half-shrugged, careful not to disturb the baby in his arms. "Hell, he's still good at picking a fight. Not much changes."

"What's he up to these days?" Emily asked, curious. "I remember him, too. Looked just like your father. I remember my mom always saying that he was the mini version of your dad."

Clint shifted slightly, but he didn't lose his cheeky grin. "He's up to his usual things. Really, he's not doing much. Just being the same guy you remember, basically."

"He leads an exciting life," Natasha added, meriting a slight scowl from Clint.

"He seemed like he would," David said. "You know, I think it's crazy that I don't remember going to school with you. You said you were here for Kindergarten?"

"Yeah, I was." Clint nodded. He didn't elaborate anything else for a few seconds, but as he noticed that Emily and David gave him expectant stares, clearly waiting for an explanation he didn't want to give, he gave another tiny half-shrug. "I was a quiet kid."

"How long have you two been together?" Natasha asked. She sensed Clint's discomfort, and she knew him well enough to know that sticking on this subject was not something he wanted to do. He was clearly uncomfortable, and this was her chance to take some of the attention away from him.

"We dated for two years, and we've been married for three," Emily answered. "You'd think we were the small town stereotype of high school sweethearts, but we actually didn't really take notice of each other until after we were done with school."

"Very sweet," Natasha said.

"I've actually been working on your farm since college, Clint. Funny how things work out," David pointed out.

"Yeah, it is," Clint agreed. He looked down at Mary Katherine and smiled. "It is definitely funny how things work out."

* * *

><p>The rest of the night went smoothly, and there were times that Natasha even found herself enjoying being with David and Emily. Actually, if she were fully honest with herself, she could admit that she genuinely <em>liked <em>them. They were nice people with good hearts who weren't hiding things. Emily was sweet because that was who she was; she wasn't trying to find out Natasha's secrets, nor was she trying to manipulate her. David wanted to crack open a beer with Clint because he wanted to, not because he was trying to drug him. Being with David and Emily in this environment was remarkably different than any other dinner or social interaction they'd been to before, and Natasha wasn't entirely sure how to handle all the sincerity that came from the couple.

It wasn't until Natasha went to the kitchen with Emily to help her bring out dessert that things really started to change. Emily walked over to the fridge to pull out an apple pie that was inside, and she glanced at Natasha. "Would you mind grabbing a bunch of silverware? The forks are in that drawer there by the stove—yes, right there! Thank you so much."

Natasha opened the drawer and grabbed enough forks for everyone, not really thinking anything of what she was doing. "Thank you for inviting us over. Tonight's been a lovely evening. I mean it. Clint and I have both been needing some downtime."

"Oh, don't thank me. Please. It's just fantastic that we get to have you over. Honestly, I'm just thrilled to get to meet you. I don't have as much in common with some of the other wives since, well, I feel like there's so much history there. You can only grow up with someone for so long without wanting to strangle them," Emily said with a soft laugh. "I'm glad to meet you and to see Clint again."

"That's cool that you remember him," Natasha remarked. Emily paused for a second, and she turned her lips inward, thoughtfully biting them as she blinked at Natasha.

"Has Clint told you much about his childhood?" she asked softly. Her voice was low so that Clint and David couldn't hear in the other room. Natasha frowned and crossed towards her with the silverware in her hand.

"I know he didn't have a happy childhood," she replied. "I know enough."

Satisfied, Emily nodded. "Ok. I just wanted to ask. It's—it's not my business. But I just wanted to ask."

"Oh. Ok," Natasha said. It was rare whenever she found herself at a loss for words, but she couldn't seem to think of anything else to say.

"I just want to say that I'm happy he found you and married you, Nat. You two seem like you're good for each other. David…David—he doesn't remember Clint from when we were kids. When we were young, David was one of the rambunctious crazy little boys who gives the teacher a heart attack. He didn't really pay much attention to the kids who were outside of his little friend group. But I remember Clint. I remember going to Kindergarten with him, and…I'm just glad that he turned out ok. That's all I was trying to say," Emily answered. She frowned slightly, as if she were afraid she were overstepping any boundaries. For a few seconds, Natasha blinked in surprise, and then she nodded.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "I'm glad I found him, too."

"I don't know much about the kind of person Clint is anymore, but I've always been able to read people well. He's a good guy, Nat. He's a very good guy, and I think you're good for him," Emily said. Natasha blinked again and looked down at the silverware in her hand, again struck speechless by the candid way Emily was sharing this with her. Natasha was a stranger, and yet Emily was confiding in her as if they were close friends. Everything in Natasha told her that this wasn't normal, that this was a trap, but she could tell that it wasn't. This was just the way her life was now.

"Thank you," she repeated. When she looked up, she blurted out a question that had been on her mind for the past few minutes. If she waited any longer, she'd never ask it, and she couldn't hold back. "What was he like as a kid? Was he—was he really all that quiet?"

Emily nodded. "He was very quiet. He was one of the nicer boys in our Kindergarten class, but he didn't have many friends because he was a little shy. The older boys picked on him a lot, but after his brother beat up on them for teasing Clint, they left him alone."

"And was he—did he come in with bruises?" Natasha asked.

"I never remembered seeing any, but my mom mentioned when I was in high school that the Barton boys always looked like they'd been in fights. I know she thought that there was something going on at home. I didn't—I had no idea that there was until I was older. When you're five years old…that's not something you pay attention to." The regret was evident in Emily's face and voice, and she looked pained, as if she were upset that she hadn't been able to do anything. Quickly, Natasha shook her head.

"I know. I know," she said. "I don't blame you. I just wanted to know. He's private about that side of his life. I hate thinking of him in a toxic environment. I—I only wanted to ask."

"It's fine. It's natural," Emily reassured, reaching out with her free arm to touch Natasha's shoulder. "That's why I'm extra glad he's found you. You two are good for each other. I can tell."

"Because you're good at reading people," Natasha finished as she tried to keep the smug grin off her face. Emily didn't pick up on it, and she nodded happily.

"Exactly," she said. "Come on. I'm dying for a slice of apple pie. You and I will have to have a girls' day just you and me. And maybe Mary Katherine since she's, well, a baby."

Natasha laughed and followed Emily back out into the dining room with silverware in hand. "I would be perfectly ok with that."

And the thing was, she really would be ok with that. She didn't know if that terrified her or made her feel more at home there in Waverly, Iowa, but she figured that at the moment, she didn't really mind. Not enough, anyway.

* * *

><p>"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Clint smugly looked over at Natasha in the passenger's seat of his pick up truck, and he grinned as she rolled her eyes in defeat.<p>

"Ok. It wasn't bad," she admitted. "I can even go so far as to say that I enjoyed myself."

"Natasha Romanoff had fun at a casual event. Color me surprised," Clint teased, all dry sarcasm.

"Excuse you. It was Nat Barton. Not Natasha Romanoff. Two different people," Natasha corrected. "But no. I did enjoy myself. Emily and David are a nice family."

"I've got to say—it was nice to not have to be on my best manners at dinner. I didn't have to learn stock market or international law or whatever dumb shit my cover's supposed to be an expert at." Clint turned the key to the engine and shifted the gear into Drive.

"Yeah, I agree with that. That part was nice. It was…it almost felt strange, though, you know? I mean, yeah, we have friends that we trust, but I still feel like even then, there's the worry that they might not be _trustworthy_. I don't know. Does that make sense?" Natasha glanced at him with a frown. She couldn't see him very well in the moonlit driver's seat, but she saw his solemn face of consideration.

"No, I understand," he replied. "I feel the same. I didn't feel like I had to be on my guard, either. That was very…unexpected."

"It was different," Natasha agreed. "But I liked it."

"Me, too."

"I know what else you liked," she pointed out. Clint shot her a curious look and raised his eyebrows. She had that look on her face like she had a secret only she knew but might be willing to share with him if he played his cards right.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Uh huh."

"You going to tell me?"

"You looked like you were about to snatch that baby right out of their house." Natasha watched his face change. His smile softened, and then he looked a little bashful as he looked at her and then looked away.

"I like babies," he said with a guilty shrug. "So shoot me."

"I didn't know you like babies. How long have you liked babies and never said anything to me?" she asked. Reaching out, she nudged him playfully with her elbow, and he rolled his eyes.

"I don't know. I've always liked babies. They're like…tiny."

"You're so poetic, Barton."

"Thanks. But really. Babies are cool."

Natasha looked away from him and out the window. "You're good with them. I've seen you around little kids before when we've been on missions, but I haven't actually seen you with a little baby like that. You're good with kids. Babies. The whole nine yards."

"Thanks. You are, too. When you stop looking nervous around them," Clint added, making Natasha laugh quietly.

"Clint, babies and I aren't really a good mix. We don't…I don't know. I never learned how to be maternal towards kids. When I should have been receiving love and affection from my own parents, I was receiving lessons on how to snap necks. My priorities were a little skewed. Bit hard to shake that," she said. She swallowed hard to hide the slight melancholy that was in her voice. She hadn't intended to sound sad, but she kind of did, and she didn't like that. Clearing her throat, she looked back at him. "But it was a good night. I enjoyed it. So thanks for saying yes."

"Aren't you and Emily supposed to get lunch sometime next week?" Clint asked.

"Yeah. Monday. Emily, Mary Katherine, and I are going to that diner in downtown to grab some food. Or the new café that opened. Emily said it depended on how quiet Mary Katherine's feeling," Natasha replied. Without saying anything, Clint reached over and squeezed the top of her knee. His touch was light and reassuring, and Natasha knew he meant it in a good way, but she knew he was only doing it because he'd heard the sadness in her voice a second ago.

"Here we are," Clint announced as he pulled into the long grassy driveway. "Home sweet home."

"Home sweet home, indeed," Natasha agreed. "Want some coffee? I was thinking about making tea when we got back."

"I'd love some coffee. I'll feed Noelle while you do that." Clint eased the truck into Park and shut the engine off, twisting the key and pulling it out. "Would you mind making the good stuff from the international market in D.C.? I know we're running low, but I'd really love some of that."

"Of course." Natasha opened the door of the truck and smoothly slid down and out of her seat. Getting in and out of a pick up truck while wearing a dress was a skill she hadn't ever thought she'd need in her life, and yet there she was. She thought about what Emily had said about it being nice to have a new person around who wasn't someone that she'd grown up with. Natasha couldn't relate to that very well, but she could understand the need for something different. As she looked around Clint's farmland in the dark, she wondered how long it would take for her to get used to this. She liked unfamiliar things—she liked challenges. She loved things and situations that made her think and question herself. It was when they got to be familiar that she sometimes got bored.

But she'd never gotten bored with Clint. She was constantly fascinated by him, day in and day out. She couldn't get familiar _enough _with him, if she were honest with herself. Hell, she'd been doing this thing with him for close to 10 years, and she was just now learning more of his secrets. Again, she couldn't blame him for that because God knew she had her secrets, too, but Clint's secrets were just another sign that he was really someone she could never know enough. And Natasha, always the Black Widow, always the little girl from the Red Room, she loved that.

"Shit. Fuck. Nat, the door to the horse barn is open. Someone must've forgotten to shut it. Did I? Maybe I did. I don't know. I'm going to head on over, check on the horses, and secure the door, ok?" Clint sidled around the front of the truck and started towards the barn.

"Ok. I'll get the coffee and tea going," she called as he threw her a thumbs up over his shoulder to acknowledge that he'd heard her. She pulled her key out of her purse—God, she hated carrying a purse, but it was the kind of thing Nat Barton, wife of Clint Barton would do, so she _had_ to—and walked up the stairs to the porch. Sliding the key into the lock, she twisted it and opened it. Right away, Noelle came running up to her, meowing and rubbing against her legs insistently.

"Hi, kitty! Hi, Noelle! Did you miss us?" Natasha leaned over to rub the small grey cat's head before moving into the kitchen. "Yeah? I bet you did. I missed you, too. But we're back. Daddy's going to get you food when he comes back in. Yes, he is."

With Noelle trailing behind her, she crossed into the kitchen and got the coffee going before she started on the tea. She opened the cabinet to pull out the can of tea leaves, only to discover that they were out.

"Shit," she mumbled. She sighed and looked down at Noelle. "Time to check the pantry and hope we have extras left in there. Want to walk with me? Come on, kitty cat."

She started walking to the pantry by passing through the dark dining room, but she paused as soon as she stepped through the doorway. She wasn't alone. Clint was outside, and Noelle was by her feet, and someone who she didn't recognize was sitting in the dark of the dining room. Immediately, she slid into a defensive position and was about to start mapping out her impromptu plan of attack when the lights switched on, and she saw a man she would have recognized anywhere sitting at the dining room table.

He looked up at her and smirked.

"Well. You're not Clint."


	9. Stranger

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><p>Chapter 9<p>

"Why the hell are you here?" Natasha kept her voice low and calm as her green eyes bored into the man in front of her. His body language was lazy, almost too relaxed given the situation, and he was so familiar with how he sat there in that chair that Natasha knew that must have been where he'd sat as a kid. The only thing that gave away the fact that this wasn't a friendly house call was the gun draped loosely in his hand.

"So my baby brother told you about me?" The man smirked at her. "Doesn't surprise me. He's always been the sentimentalist out of the two of us."

"You have no business here, Barney," Natasha continued as if he hadn't spoken. Barney grinned at her and leaned his chin into his hand.

"You _do _know who I am," he said pleasantly. "But like I said. Doesn't surprise me. You know who I am, and I know who you are."

"Of course you do," Natasha replied, dismissive. "I'm the Black Widow. I'm a world-class assassin for one of the most powerful government organizations on the planet. People know my name."

"And you know mine," Barney countered. He gazed curiously at her and watched her face with those blue eyes of his that were so like Clint's and yet so different. Clint's eyes were a clear sky blue that could pierce straight through her with one look, but Barney's were so dark they were almost navy; they were watchful and wary, and they made it look like he was laughing at her. Suddenly, his eyes flicked down to Natasha's hands. "You might as well stop trying to plan how to get a weapon in your hands. I'm the one with a gun. You're not."

"I don't need a gun to hurt you." Natasha narrowed her eyes slightly as Barney laughed.

"Neither do I." He shrugged. "And yet here we are. Though honestly, it'd be an honor to fight the Black Widow. Natalia Alianovna Romanova."

"If you call me that again, I _will _kill you." Natasha's eyes flashed. Barney stared at her for a few seconds, and then he slowly smiled, this time the gesture fully genuine. He started to reply when the sound of the front door opening caught both of their attentions.

"Nat?" Clint called out.

"We have company," Natasha called back over her shoulder without looking back at him. Barney turned in his chair so that he could face her better, his face all too delighted with how things were going so far.

"What?" Clint came around the corner, and Natasha knew when Barney had fallen into his line of sight by the way Clint stopped dead in his tracks. For a few seconds, no one said anything. Then the next seconds passed so quickly Natasha wouldn't remember them happening until later. There was a lunge and the sound of skin hitting skin and an overturn of chairs.

"Son of a bitch!"

"Fucking—"

"I'm not here to—back the hell off—" Barney shoved Clint off of him and held his hands up, the gun still visible but his finger noticeably off the trigger. Blood trickled down the side of his mouth, and he glared fiercely at Clint as he backed away. "Nice to see you, too, little brother."

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Clint demanded, his voice an increasing, rumbling roar. "What the _fuck _are you doing here, Barney?!"

"You think you're the only one who uses this place when he needs to duck down? For fuck's sake, Clint, you're not stupid, so quit acting like it," Barney replied with a ragged laugh. "Just here doing the same thing you are."

"Out. Get out. This isn't your place," Clint snapped.

"I'm here to talk, Clint. Nothing else. Here to talk and lie low for a while." Barney kept his hands up where Clint and Natasha could see them. Natasha watched the way he moved—even though he was the one with the gun, he was holding his hands up as if in surrender. From everything she'd heard about Barney Barton, she didn't doubt that he could take give Clint a run for his money when it came to fighting, and yet here he was just accepting the circumstances of his situation.

"Bullshit!" Clint growled, his eyes flashing with fury. "Last time you saw me you tried to kill me. Get the hell out of my house, Barney!"

"The first time in years I'm actually not trying to kill you, and you're kicking me out?" Barney asked in amusement. His eyes flicked over to Natasha. "'S it because of her?"

"You leave her the fuck alone. Do you understand me?" Clint rushed forward again, but this time Natasha reached out and grabbed his arm.

"Clint," she warned. Barney grinned as Clint stopped moving at the sound of his name. He looked back and forth between the two assassins, and then he tilted his head to the side.

"I've heard rumors, but this just confirms it," he said, sounding impressed. "Would you look at that, little brother? You and the Black Widow shacking up. Knew you two were partners but this…this goes beyond partnership."

Natasha gazed fiercely at him. "You don't get to talk about me." She turned her eyes to Clint. "You need to take a few steps back." Clint gave her a look that told her he wasn't going to, and she gently put a firm hand to his chest, pressing him back. "If the neighbors hear gunshots, our cover's blown."

"You know, it wouldn't be the first time the police would have been called here," Barney announced from behind her. Clint's face hardened, and his entire body locked up as he fought to keep himself in place.

"And _you _need to shut the hell up." Natasha sent a furious glare over her shoulder.

"What are you doing here?" Clint demanded, still forcing himself to stay still so he didn't run over and punch his brother's face in.

"I need a place to stay hidden for a few days. I told you that." For the first time since he'd shown up there, he sounded annoyed. "You're not the only ones affected by SHIELD getting their asses beat by HYDRA. Hell, you're not the only people HYDRA's after."

"And what the fuck do _you _know about it?" Clint started to move forward, but he caught himself. "Huh? What, because you got your ass put in a SHIELD prison? And speaking of, what the hell was that about?"

"Got caught snatching something I shouldn't have," Barney said with a blithe glance around the dining room. "I like what you've done with the place. It's homier."

"Cut the shit, Barn." Clint dragged a hand through his hair and stared in utter disbelief at his brother. If he remembered correctly, this was the first conversation he'd had with his brother in years. Well, the first conversation that hadn't been full of screamed threats to kill each other, he corrected in his mind.

"What do you mean that we're not the only people HYDRA's after?" Natasha asked with a frown. "You're saying you're not HYDRA?"

Barney managed to look offended. "Hell no, ma'am. There's no way I'm a scumbag piece of shit HYDRA agent. Just because I bat for the dark side doesn't mean I'm _that _dark. Jesus."

"Considering everything that's happened between SHIELD, HYDRA, and you these past few months, it's not a stupid fucking question," Clint spat in Barney's direction. "It'd make sense, though."

"Are you listening to yourself? I'm not fucking HYDRA. I'm an enemy of both SHIELD _and _HYDRA. Please." Barney's navy blue eyes flashed with annoyance, and he heaved a sigh that reflected his irritation.

"What were you trying to take when SHIELD caught you?" Natasha asked. Barney turned his gaze onto her and lifted his eyebrows as he ran a hand through his rusty copper-colored hair, the gesture reminding her so much of Clint that she nearly took a step back.

"Stuff," he smartly answered. Natasha shot a glance in Clint's direction, and he nodded once before turning a mildly bored expression towards his brother.

"Typical," he muttered. "Fucking typical. I can't believe this."

"How'd you even know I was caught in the first place?" Barney asked curiously. He looked back and forth between Natasha and Clint as he kept his hands up in surrender still.

"SHIELD info dump on the Internet," Natasha answered. "Shouldn't you already know about that?"

"I've been trying to keep my nose out of things these past two weeks. Couldn't draw too much attention to myself." Barney's eyes flicked back over to Clint. "So can I stay?"

"Is that even a fucking question? No. No, you can't stay. You need to get the hell out!" Clint ordered.

"I'm your damn brother!" Barney shouted, his voice starting to rise in volume as he realized that Clint wasn't letting him go.

"Give me the gun," Natasha said. The older Barton looked at her with a curious expression, and for a moment, she thought he was going to say no, but then he surprised her by handing it over easily.

"There," he said. "Happy? I can't shoot either of you."

"Where's your bow? Where'd you put your arrows?" Clint was off then, ducking to look under the table, opening cabinets. "Hmm? Where are they, Barney?"

"Left them in the barn."

"The—" Clint stopped moving to gape at Barney. "Jesus Christ, you're the one who left the barn open."

"I always do forget to shut it." Barney lowered his hands and put them in his pockets.

"Who's after you?" Clint asked. He leaned forward and put his hands on the table. There had to be a real reason Barney was here. Barney wasn't the type to just show up out of the blue and ask for a place to stay—he wouldn't. Would he? It hit Clint then that he didn't really know his brother anymore—hadn't known him for years. What if this was who his brother was now? Doubt lingered in the back of his mind, but he pushed it out. He couldn't afford to think about these things now.

"No one. Well, I mean, the usual people, but no one in particular. SHIELD and HYDRA are too busy going after each other to really notice my little slip away, but I would like to spend a few days here just to go off the grid," Barney replied.

"No, someone's got to be after you. You're too smart to come back here and just expect me to not want to kill you after all the shit you've put me through over the years," Clint argued, frowning deeply at his older brother. Barney lifted his thick dark eyebrows in a bored, non-amused expression.

"It's a two way street, Clint-boy," he retorted. "You've tried to kill me, too."

Clint opened his mouth to protest, but then he shut it. "Ridiculous."

"There's no one after me, Clint, I promise. It's just me. I need to lay low. I use the farm, too, when you're not here, you know," Barney said, now sounding bored that he was still having this conversation. Clint's eyes flashed with that familiar darkness, and he slammed his fist against the table in frustration.

"You're compromising _my _place by being here. You understand that, right?" he asked in a low growl. "The farm belongs to me. For whatever reason, it was left to _me_. You being here is a violation of every kind of agreement we've ever come up with in regards to this place."

"What agreements?" Barney barked back. "We've never had any agreements—when you got old enough, you got the farm, and by that point, you were already SHIELD's lapdog. Speaking of, how's that working out for you, by the way? Seems like it was doing ok until HYDRA reared its ugly head. Now that SHIELD's gone, what do you have left? Hmm?"

Natasha watched Clint's hands tighten into fists, and she felt her own body start to tense up as she prepared herself to grab him in case he started trying to beat the shit out of Barney again, but he loosened his grasp and took a breath. _You're ok_, she told him inside her head. _You're ok._

"At least I turned my life around," Clint finally replied. "Got out from under Trick Shot and the Swordsman. What has your sorry ass done all these years?"

"Saving _your _ass," Barney bit back. "Like always."

"What the fuck did you just—"

"Hey!" Natasha shouted. Both of them stopped and looked at her, their faces taking on the same exact expression as they blinked in surprise, as if they were remembering that she was still there. "I'm all about family reunions, but I'd really prefer if no one died tonight. If you two stand here and keep screaming at each other, someone's going to be killed, and I'd just very much like that to _not _happen."

"You're not staying here," Clint snapped at Barney.

"The loft," Barney said quickly. Clint went still, and he stared at Barney with huge eyes, the anger in them still there but not quite as fiery as it had been a second ago. "Let me stay in the loft. I'll stay there."

Clint didn't say anything for several moments; instead, he just stared at the older brother he hadn't seen—_actually _seen—in over 10 years, and he noticed all the changes in Barney's face. There were more lines, more tiny scars, and more valleys than there'd been the last time Clint had been this close to him for this length of time.

In a way, Clint didn't recognize Barney. When he looked at the man in front of him, he saw a man who'd spent the past decade trying to kill him. That man wasn't the same boy who had protected him so fiercely when they'd been younger—the older brother who had risked everything for Clint was no longer there anymore, and it had taken Clint until now to realize it. His eyes passed over Barney's face, and when he looked away, he knew he was looking away from a hardened stranger.

But he couldn't say no.

"You don't have to stay in the loft," he said quietly. "You can…God—you can stay here. But tomorrow you need to be gone."

"Clint," Natasha said suddenly. Clint looked over at her and saw the blank, quiet gaze she was giving him.

"I mean it," Clint insisted as he looked back at Barney. "Tomorrow you need to be gone. I'm not harboring you here. I might not be a SHIELD agent anymore, but I'm not keeping a damn criminal here."

Barney scoffed and rolled his eyes openly. "What do you think _you _are, brother? You think you're that much better? What about all those missions you've gone on as an agent of your precious SHIELD? How many of those were for SHIELD, and how many of those were for HYDRA?"

Natasha felt her blood run cold, and she stepped forward. "Clint. I'm going upstairs."

"Nat—"

"Deal with your brother, Clint." She turned over her shoulder and walked out, calling for Noelle as she disappeared. Clint felt that he should have gone after Natasha and tried to explain why he'd made this decision, but he couldn't bring himself to move—he couldn't find it in him to leave Barney alone. It wasn't that he wanted to spend time Barney and catch up him because God, that was the opposite; if anything, Clint didn't trust Barney to be by himself in the house.

"Wow," Barney breathed once Natasha had been gone long enough to go upstairs. "How the hell did you get that lucky?"

"Shut up," Clint snapped. Barney crossed towards the dining room table and sat down in the same spot he'd been in when Natasha had found him. He ran his hand through his unruly rusty hair and glanced up at Clint.

"I mean it. She's great."

"You don't even know her, so shut the hell up." Clint couldn't even find the energy to be angry. Now he was just exhausted and drained, and all he wanted to do was go to sleep and wake up in the morning only to find out that this had all been a horrible dream.

"I know _of _her, and that's enough for me. She's got quite the reputation. For someone who doesn't like killers, you—"

"Don't you dare say it," Clint spat. "If you say what I think you're going to say, I swear to God, I will escort you off this farm myself."

Barney was quiet, and they stared at each other, testing the other to see how far they could press the silence. Finally, Barney let out a sigh, and he leaned back in his chair without looking away from his blond younger brother. "You're always more effective when you're angry."

"Thanks," Clint deadpanned.

"Strength and a weakness at the same time."

"Not in the mood, Barn."

"So where were you and your girlfriend this evening?" Barney asked.

"She's not my girlfriend."

"Ok, fine. Your life partner."

"She's—dammit, Barney." Clint closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and his index finger. He felt like he'd spent the past 10 minutes sighing nonstop, and he fought the sigh that threatened to come bubbling out the back of his throat just then. Opening his eyes, he stared accusingly at the older Barton. "You realize this is the first time we've actually talked with other without threatening to murder the other in—in basically forever?"

"Like the good old days, huh? Like nothing ever happened." Barney grinned, but seeing his grin only made Clint frown.

"That's not good," he argued. "We've—we don't know each other anymore."

"You're so sure about that, but I'm not." Barney folded his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes as he continued to study Clint. "When me and you were threatening each other, we were speaking for our jobs. SHIELD wanted me dead, and my people wanted you dead, so that was just you know…complications that came with the job."

"Oh, so you're saying all the times you told me you were going to gut me with my own arrows was because your people wanted you to say that?" Clint shot back. _Stay calm. Don't get angry. Stay calm. Natasha's right—if someone gets mad, someone dies, and that's going to be really fucking difficult to cover up_.

"Something like that." Barney offered up a nonchalant shrug that only irritated Clint more than anything else.

"Bullshit," he muttered. "Who are you even working for these days, Barn?"

"What is this, an interrogation?" Barney smirked. "Hey, you got coffee here?"

Clint pressed his lips together as he hesitated, and then he nodded. "Yeah. Fix it yourself."

Easily, Barney hopped up from the table and walked into the kitchen, Clint hot on his heels as he moved about. The older Barton went straight to the correct cabinet and opened it. When he saw the coffee sitting there, exactly as he'd guessed, he turned and smiled at Clint. "You still keep it where Mom kept it when we were kids."

"It's easier," Clint mumbled, hating that he felt as though he had to give an excuse for it. God, he was 35 years old and still feeling like he had to offer excuses to his big brother for why he chose to do things his own way.

"Like I told your girlfriend, you've always been the sentimental one. Between you and me, it's always been you who'll do shit like keep the coffee where Mom did or never change the wallpaper or—"

"First off, stop calling Natasha my girlfriend because she's not my girlfriend. Second, who gives a fuck about wallpaper? What even _is _wallpaper?" Clint angrily snapped. Barney just laughed as he continued getting the coffee out. Suddenly, Barney paused and looked at the machine.

"Huh, Black Widow already made some coffee. Guess this can go back where it came from." He put the coffee back in the cabinet and looked at the pot to see how much more time was left on it. "She's got you making the good stuff. I don't remember you being a coffee snob when we were young. You were just happy to get what you could get. SHIELD do that to you? Make you a hotshot and forget your roots?"

"Seriously, Barney, I don't want to do this. Ok?" Clint watched his brother examine the coffee pot as the machine began to release a long steady stream of hot black liquid.

"I'm surprised you don't have a Keurig. That seems like it'd be the privileged elite thing to have." Barney glanced back to see Clint's expression, clearly enjoying pressing all Clint's buttons.

"I'm not the privileged elite, and you know it. Fuck off, Barney."

"Back atcha, Clint-boy." Barney turned and opened another cabinet to find that the mugs were exactly where he thought they'd be, too. Over his shoulder, he gave Clint a knowing look.

Clint rolled his eyes and made a disgusted sound. "Shut up."

"Sentimental. 'S'all I'm saying." Barney set the mug on the counter and kept his eyes on the coffee machine, still waiting for it to finish filling up the glass coffee pot. "So how pissed is your spider about you saying I could stay here?"

"No idea," Clint honestly replied. "And—Jesus, if you call her a spider to her face, she might actually kill you. Can you not be an ass for one fucking second, please?"

"Trying to show you I haven't changed." Barney lifted the coffee pot and began pouring a cup for himself. Glancing over at Clint, he nodded towards the pot. "Want some?"

Clint eyed it. Natasha had made the pot of coffee for him, but he didn't want to give Barney the satisfaction of saying yes. Mentally, he sighed as he realized that this was his life at the moment. He was in his childhood home with SHIELD in ruins, pretending to be a married farmer while his older brother who'd wanted to kill him for years poured coffee and asked him if he wanted any. This was ridiculous, Clint thought for the millionth time that night. The evening should have ended with him and Natasha curling up on the couch and watching a stupid movie before going upstairs and having sex before falling asleep. _That _was the night Clint had wanted—not this.

"Yes," he said reluctantly. Barney tossed him another insufferable smirk and pulled another mug out. Silently, the two brothers stood in the kitchen, fully aware of the other and how uncomfortable this situation was. It had been a long time since both Barton boys had been here in this same kitchen at the same time. Now that Clint thought about it, he realized that they hadn't been here like this since they were kids, very small kids.

Barney finished pouring Clint's mug, and he pushed it across the counter towards him. Hesitant, Clint reached out and took the mug, and he retreated to his side of the kitchen again. While they both waited for the drinks to cool just a little bit, Clint tried to think of how he was going to explain this to Natasha. True to her nature, she hadn't given away what she'd thought about all of this, but the fact that she'd left and her face had been blank as a slate hadn't been a good sign.

What could he possibly say? How could he explain it to her? There wasn't a good enough explanation, or at least there wasn't one that Clint could think of. He'd have to think of something, and he dreaded having to explain this to her when he knew she didn't understand. Hell, he wasn't even sure that _he _entirely understood why he'd agreed to Barney staying here just for the night.

But as he looked at his older brother and watched him test the coffee, flinch upon discovering it was too hot, and then lower the mug away from his face, Clint knew that it was because Barney, no matter what, was his brother. Even if Clint didn't know who Barney was anymore, even if Clint didn't know the kind of person Barney Barton was these days, Barney was still his brother.

He remembered Natasha telling him that family was such an odd concept for her since she couldn't remember having a family. The Red Room had been her family, and it hadn't even been a family. Now that she was Natasha and not Natalia, she had him, and he knew without her having to tell him that he was her family. And yet it was different. Natasha's idea of home and family wasn't a particularly orthodox was, though really, his wasn't, either, but, God, this was hard. This was very hard, he thought.

"So," Barney said out loud.

"So," Clint repeated.

"Looks like we're back to where we started."

"I guess so."

"How's it feel?" Barney asked, genuinely curious. Clint frowned over the edge of his mug as he brought it up to his mouth to test the temperature.

"How's what feel?"

"Being home."

"This isn't home," Clint protested. "Not at all."

"No?" Barney tilted his head to the side."

"No."

He shrugged. "Ok."

Clint moved away from the counter and started towards the stairs, his eyes still on Barney as he walked. "You can either take the couch or our old room. But I mean it, Barney. If I hear you do anything, I'm not playing around anymore. Ok?"

Barney held up his hands innocently, a gesture he seemed to be pretty fond of tonight, and he nodded. "You got it. Go make up with Black Widow."

"Shut the hell up."

"Good night…STRIKE Team: Delta."

As Clint walked up the stairs, he tried to ignore the chill that went down his spine.


	10. Trust

**Shoutouts to patty cake rocks, AmeliaSkellig, pinoychick143, F1am3tta, beverlie4055, Jo, pengineer, SorchaRossin, Black, Betty, and MaddieFayeth96 for reviewing!**

**I hope y'all are having a fantastic New Year's so far! =)**

**My chapter's a little later in the day than I usually update, so thanks for waiting! Your reactions to Barney were definitely interesting, and I can't wait to hear what you guys have to say after this update! Just as a heads up, this is by far an M-rated chapter, so you've been warned heh heh ;)**

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><p>Chapter 10<p>

Natasha was already dressed in one of Clint's t-shirts and was halfway through brushing her teeth by the time Clint came up the stairs with his hot mug of fresh coffee. Making a point, she didn't greet him beyond anything more than a glance when he came and stood in the doorway of the bathroom, his light blue eyes on her while she finished up. He looked guilty—he looked like a small puppy who'd done something wrong and knew he'd messed up, but he couldn't think of the right way to apologize. Natasha leaned forward and spat the last bit of toothpaste into the sink before rinsing her mouth out.

"He looks like you," she said out loud. Clint blinked in surprise. Clearly, this wasn't the kind of reaction he'd been expecting from her.

"Thanks. I think," he replied. "Maybe. Is that a compliment?"

"It's an observation." She rinsed off her toothbrush and put it back in the small plastic cup by the corner of the faucet. She turned to face him, finally looking at him head on first the first time since he'd come up the stairs.

"I don't blame you if you're mad," he said quickly before she could say anything else.

Natasha shook her head. "I'm not mad."

Clint blinked again. "You're not?"

"No. I'm a lot of things right now, but mad is not one of them." She put one hand on the edge of the sink and the other on her hip as she surveyed him, her green eyes making him feel uncomfortable and far too vulnerable for his liking. "More than anything, I'm confused."

"Confused," Clint repeated.

"Confused."

"How can I un-confuse you?" he asked. Natasha pressed her lips together and tilted her head to the side, her blonde hair brushing over the curved edge of her shoulder. He believed her when she said she wasn't angry because she didn't look it at all; even though her face was virtually blank and emotionless, he really did believe that she wasn't angry with him.

"Explain your thought process to me," she said, her voice still calm and even. "Your brother—the same brother who's tried to kill you multiple times throughout the past decade of your life—shows up in your house with a loaded gun, and you guys throw some punches. But then after a few minutes of passive aggressive bickering, you agree to let him stay. I don't understand how that progression works."

"It's complicated." Clint sighed and ran a hair through his short blond hair, noticing that Natasha frowned to let him know that that wasn't the answer she wanted. "It is. I know that sounds like I'm copping out of explaining anything, but it's just…complicated."

"I'm pretty good at putting two-and-two together, but this I can't figure out. How do you go from trying to kick your brother's ass to letting him stay the night?" Natasha pressed. Clint let out another sigh, but this time he offered up a helpless shrug to show that he was honestly at a loss. And truthfully, he was. He didn't know how to explain this to her. Hell, there weren't enough words in the English dictionary to help him explain Barney Barton.

"He's my brother," he finally said, knowing his excuse was lame. "He…I don't know. We have a lot of shit between us, but when we were kids…he was the one who saved my ass a lot, you know? He took a lot of the beatings from my dad for me. He took the blame for a lot of things I did because he knew our dad would beat up on him instead of me."

Natasha lifted her eyebrows. "And that erases these most recent years of trying to kill you?"

Clint squinted his eyes at her. "Are you mad at me? I can't tell if you're mad."

"No." She sighed, and a flash of frustration passed over her face. "I'm not mad. I have no doubt that if he tries to pull any shit, you and I can take him down. I don't think he's going to try to murder us in our sleep, or at least if he does, he's not going to be able to do it without a fight. I've slept with many murderers in my house before, so this isn't any different. Honestly, Clint, I'm just confused."

Clint winced and closed his eyes as he rubbed his forehead, feeling a dull ache start to spread between his eyes beneath his skull. "It's…God…I don't know. I'm not doing a good job of explaining it. He's my brother. I can't…I don't know." He paused, and then he let his hand drop, as if all the energy had drained completely out of it. "I guess when he mentioned going to sleep out in the loft. I don't know…when we were kids, the loft was where we used to hide from our dad. There were a few nights where we sneaked out and spent the night there when he'd start wailing on our mom, and Barn was scared he'd start in on us. When he mentioned the loft, I didn't want him to go there if he didn't have to."

"Shit." Natasha ran a hand through her hair and ruffled it before deciding to pull it back into a ponytail. "Clint…shit."

"It's stupid." Clint folded his arms over his chest, watching her watch him. For whatever reason, it felt like they were at a standoff, but it also felt like they were letting each other in. That method had always been their way of getting closer, though, Clint realized. They'd never leapt into trusting each other or revealing themselves to each other; those things had come over time with slow, cautious circles around each other that had eventually ended in some kind of understanding.

"I'm just suspicious of his motives," Natasha added. "Why now? Why's he showing up and being so natural and easy about all of this? Is he really here just because he needs a place to lay low, or is he here for more?"

"Those are all very good questions that I wish I had the answers to." Clint turned his head to glance in the direction of the door that led downstairs to where Barney was. "Believe me…I don't trust him as far as I can shoot. I don't think he's here because he's completely innocent. He didn't say who he's working for these days, so he could be working for anyone…pulling any kind of job for anyone."

"How are you holding up with all this?" Natasha asked suddenly. He paused and gave her a look, an edge entering it that neither of them had expected to show up on his face. Mildly, he shrugged.

"I don't know. I'm fine, I guess. If anything, I'm mad as hell because we had such a good night tonight."

Natasha moved towards him and held her hands out. "How's your hand?"

"Oh." He'd forgotten about it. He let her take it while she examined his still red knuckles. "It's ok. I've punched plenty of people before."

"Just checking." She ran her fingertips over his knuckles one last time just to satisfy herself that he was really ok. "Everything's in working order."

"Seems that way." Clint watched her lift his hand to her lips, and she pressed a light kiss to his red, overly skin. Smiling gently, he felt himself start to relax. The worry and the suspicion was still strong in the back of his mind, but he could find it in himself to ease up a little bit when Natasha looked so pretty in his t-shirt and her mouth against his hand. "That feels good."

"Yeah?" She smiled and kissed his knuckles again. "Good."

She kept kissing various spots on his hand, and Clint couldn't help reaching out to touch her waist with his other hand. She looked so small in his shirt, but he loved it. He loved that she wore his shirts unapologetically. Granted, that meant he often couldn't find a lot of his shirts, but seeing Natasha Romanoff wrapped up in one of his shirts was his favorite thing in the world. He always joked and told her he'd buy 100 more shirts if it meant that she'd wear them all.

He moved his hand down so that he could touch where the hem of his shirt hit against her leg. She was only wearing underwear beneath the shirt, and he could feel the warm skin of her bare thigh as he brushed his fingertips over her. Leaning down, he kissed her on the mouth. Her lips were warm and pliant beneath his, and he couldn't stop himself from backing her up against the bathroom sink.

"Your brother's downstairs," she whispered in between heated kisses.

"Not the riskiest place we've fucked. Don't care," he murmured, already starting to push her underwear down while she yanked at the button and zipper of his jeans.

"Neither do I." She started to pull his jeans down, but he slid away from her and out of her grasp, sinking down to his knees and throwing one of her legs over his shoulder. Right away, he placed his tongue between her legs and dragged it over her clit. Natasha let out a surprised gasp, and her hips arched into his mouth. "Clint…"

He wasted no time in working her with his mouth. His tongue set to work flicking over her clit and dipping into her wherever he could. Above him, Natasha breathed hard and threaded her fingers through his hair while her thigh flexed on his shoulder. Clint licked her and worshipped her thoroughly, and he used his tongue to work her up in relentless, torturous ways that had her gripping his hair and breathing hard.

He worked her right until he was sure she was wet and ready, and then he pulled away, lowering her thigh off his shoulder and standing up. They didn't need to speak to know what the other wanted or expected—without hesitation, Natasha hopped up on the counter, and Clint pushed his boxers down to his knees. It was only a matter of seconds before he was nestled between her thighs with his mouth fused to her.

Finally, with one quick, solid stroke, he pushed inside her. He could feel her thighs tighten around his hips, could hear the hard gasp she made as she struggled to keep from moaning out loud. Both of them had known that this wasn't going to last long, but when Clint pulled his hips back and pushed forward, Natasha felt her mind go blank with pleasure. She let her head fall back as she moved with Clint's body, the both of them chasing after their orgasms.

Suddenly, Clint hooked an arm around her waist and moved so that he was half-over her. The angle changed dramatically, and he found that his thrusts went deeper with gravity now helping him push harder inside her. It took everything he could not to moan, even when his brain was screaming at him to make some kind of sound to let her know how good everything felt. Spurring him on, Natasha locked her arms around his neck and sloppily kissed him. "Clint…"

He was heavy and hot between her legs, but it was so good. She wanted to moan his name until she couldn't see straight, but she with the thought of his brother downstairs, she was just able to keep her cries silent, though not without effort. Clint didn't move his mouth away from hers. Every thrust pushed her into the hard counter, but she didn't care—she just arched her back and kept moving beneath him.

It wasn't long before she felt her orgasm start to build inside her. Clint knew it by the way her thighs clenched him harder. Those thighs—those deadly, killer, lethal assassin thighs, he thought as he took his free hand and brought it to touch the bare skin of her leg, pushing it open just the tiniest bit more to allow him to shove deeper. Natasha sharply inhaled, and Clint kissed her hard, swallowing all of her sounds while he fucked her against the counter.

He felt her orgasm throughout her entire body. He didn't need to hear her call his name or cry out because, God, he could feel it. She tightened around him, and her legs trembled as she pressed her heels against his lower back, forcing him in even deeper. Even though Clint hadn't expected his orgasm to hit him for a few more seconds, it hit him right then. The added pressure of Natasha's heels against him as they pushed him deep into her sent him over the edge, and before he could stop himself, he was coming.

Unable to control his voice, a moan began to melt out of his throat when suddenly, Natasha's hand clasped over his mouth to keep him silent. All he could do was breathe while he came: breathe and swallow his tongue and pray to a God he didn't believe in that he didn't die right then and there. He held his body still, his hips moving all by themselves out of primal instinct as they jerked with the intensity of his orgasm. He came hard and long, but through it all, he kept his focus on Natasha. Natasha. Her hand over his mouth was the only anchor he had to anything existing in the physical world, and he grasped to it as tightly as he could.

She kept her hand pressed to his lips, and she looked him in the eye, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glazed over. She was so beautiful and so good, and hell, she was even understanding. She could have been angry over the whole thing with Barney, and yet she wasn't. She'd said that she had no doubt they could handle Barney if need be, and even though the thought of "handling" Barney wasn't appealing, just her confidence as she'd said it had been so sexy and so…_Natasha_.

Clint closed his eyes and exhaled deeply through his nose as his orgasm finished, leaving him exhausted from having to keep quiet through such intense sensations. With a quiet laugh, Natasha pulled her hand away from his mouth and replaced it with her lips. For a few seconds, they remained there doing nothing but kissing until she squirmed against him to let him know she wanted to get down. Clint carefully pulled out of her with a slight wince, and he moved away to allow her to dismount from the counter.

"Huh," she breathed. "That was fun."

"Fun?" he asked, lifting his eyebrows as his breath continued to come in deep swells. "That's it?"

"Fun. Good. Exhausting." She put a light hand on his chest and gave him a tiny push. "Bed. I'll be out in a second."

"Yes, ma'am." Happy and satiated, Clint backed out of the bathroom while she closed the door, and he retreated to the bed. Sex was always a way to take his mind off things, and Natasha knew that about him. Hell, it was _her _way to distract herself, too, and even though Clint had been able to forget about Barney downstairs for just a little while, he couldn't stop thinking about it now. His brother was here. His brother was home.

After a few moments, Natasha came out of the bathroom and climbed into bed with him. She looked up at him with those large, quiet, watchful eyes of hers, and he saw them flick over to his ears. "You're sleeping with your hearing aids in?"

He scoffed. "Of course. Like I said. I don't trust Barney as far as I can throw him. Keeping them in so I can hear if he tries anything."

"Good idea." She turned so that her back was to him. "Spoon me."

"Right away, ma'am." He folded her into his body and kissed the back of her shoulder as she reached out to turn the lamp by their bed off. As he tried to drift off to sleep, he could only think of two things.

His brother was here. His brother was home.

* * *

><p>The first thing Clint did the next morning was go downstairs. He left Natasha lying asleep in their bed while he went down to get coffee brewing. Today was going to be different—that went without saying. He didn't feel as though he could go to work on the farm with Barney around, but he didn't want to stick around and be Barney's babysitter if Barney hadn't already hightailed it out of there yet.<p>

He wasn't even halfway down the stairs when he smelled freshly brewing coffee. Dread filled Clint's chest, but he made himself continue down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Barney was standing as if he owned the place. Barney glanced over his shoulder and saw Clint.

"I'm making coffee," he announced.

"I noticed," Clint replied, his voice terse and his eyes suspicious. Barney gazed casually at him and then shrugged.

"Ok. Don't have any," he said. He waited for Clint's response and then sighed when he realized he wasn't going to get any. "You've got that look on your face like you want to talk about something but don't know if you should. What is it? Still don't trust that I'm here just to lie low?"

"Hell no," Clint barked out with a short laugh. "I don't believe that for a second. I think you're purposefully leading someone here or some shit. But I don't believe that you're here just for innocent reasons."

"How many times have I lied to you, Clint-boy?" Barney folded his arms over his chest and narrowed his dark blue eyes at his younger brother. "I've never been anything but honest with you."

"Yeah?" Clint asked skeptically. "I think of probably a hundred times you've lied to me."

"When?" Barney pressed. "I've always told you when I was planning on killing you. That was never a surprise, was it?"

Clint opened his mouth to reply, but he found that he had nothing to say. Barney was right. He'd never lied to Clint about his intentions in the past to kill him. He'd always come straight out and said it, and Clint hadn't realized it until just then. He closed his mouth and stared crossly at his older brother, again trying to recognize the man in front of him. Barney had always looked like their father, but the resemblance really was striking, he thought with an unhappy grimace. Clint had inherited their mother's blonde hair and lighter features while Barney had inherited their father's copper hair and rugged lines.

"Exactly," Barney confirmed. "You can't think of a time I lied to you. I promised you, Clint. I wouldn't lie to you. And I haven't unless it's been to save your ass."

"And how has setting out to kill me been part of the whole you-saving-my-ass campaign?" Clint retorted, feeling anger start to rise up in his chest again. "That just doesn't go away, Barn, no matter how much you think barging in here and talking about saving my life will make it disappear."

"After you got captured and turned by SHIELD, Trick Shot wanted to kill you. Do you know how often he had me track you on your first missions? I had my own assignments to put an arrow in your head, but I didn't do it because I was saving your ass. Word got around that I had a vendetta against you, and it kind of became my bargaining piece when people needed me for a job. 'Do this for us, and we'll get you your brother.' God, you're a piece of shit." Barney shoved a hand through his hair that looked exactly like the way Clint did whenever he got frustrated. Clint put his hands on his hips as he listened, and he frowned.

"So you're saying you weren't really going to kill me?" he asked.

"Hell no. I was going to kill you. Fully intended to every time I told you I was going to. I just…didn't." Barney shrugged. "Like you said, little brother…we're family. We're brothers."

"That doesn't—doesn't explain why you're here now." Clint's frown deepened, and he gazed at his brother while he tried to figure out how much of Barney's story he believed. Barney was right—he'd never lied to Clint. And yet there were still so many unanswered questions and so much distrust that Clint wasn't sure he could fully believe what Barney had just told him. Shaking his head, he sighed again and shifted his jaw to the side.

"SHIELD collapsed. I flew the coop. I'm here, and so are you," Barney replied. "Just coming back to our roots when we have nowhere else to go. That's what we Bartons do. We ain't got any other place in the world, but this goddamn farm in the middle of fucking Iowa is the last place anyone would look for you or for me."

"So you haven't told anyone about the farm?" Clint questioned, narrowing his eyes slightly.

Barney made a face. "Of course not. I ain't stupid, Clint-boy."

Clint caught the sound of footsteps behind him, and he turned to find Natasha on the stairs. She was still in his shirt, and her hair was up in his ponytail, but she was wearing a pair of baggy sweatpants that she'd had for years. Clint knew her well enough to know that she had a concealed weapon on her where no one could see—no one would know but him. Glancing at her, he raised an eyebrow just the tiniest amount to tell her that everything was ok for now.

"Nat," he said quietly. "Hey."

She moved into the kitchen and stared cautiously at Barney. "Hey."

"I made coffee!" Barney exclaimed cheerfully. "Want some?"

"I drink tea." Her voice was short and clipped, but it was also tinged with the slightest bit of curiosity.

"I can make tea. You want tea?" Barney asked. He caught her sharp look, and then he winced. "Sorry. I'm making myself too much at home here. I keep forgetting that this isn't exactly _my _place anymore."

Clint caught Barney's pointed glance, and he shrugged it off. "I'll make you tea, Nat."

"So you're still here," Natasha droned as she eyed Barney, folding her arms over her chest. Clint crossed into the kitchen and began rummaging around for some of Natasha's favorite tea bags.

"For the moment," Barney replied. Natasha caught the way he and Clint moved around each other, how natural and relaxed it was. Barney could tell when he was in Clint's way, and he moved so the archer could get into the cabinet behind him, and Clint could tell how long it would take Barney to move so he didn't smash him in the head with the door. They were very clearly brothers, not that she'd ever doubted it before, but she fully understood just how _related_ they were in that moment.

"You really _are _brothers," she murmured, more to herself than to anyone else. Clint tossed her an unhappy look while Barney threw his head back and laughed appreciatively.

"Unfortunately, we are," he said. "When we were kids, we looked nothing alike, but I guess the resemblance is here now."

"It's your mannerisms. If I didn't know how to read people so well, I wouldn't have thought so." Natasha didn't step forward, but she didn't move away from the brothers. Just when she'd thought that her life couldn't get any weirder, it'd gotten exponentially weirder.

"So what do you read off of me, Black Widow?" Barney asked with a grin. Behind him, she caught the way Clint's shoulders tensed and how he looked up and over at his older brother as if in warning.

"Nothing to trust," she shot back.

"Well," Barney sighed. "You're not wrong." He turned back to Clint. "I'll be out of your hair soon enough, but I want a look around the farm."

"Why?" Clint asked, frowning. "It's the same it's always been. Just a little bit bigger with a better name for itself, no thanks to you."

"The hell's that supposed to mean?" Barney asked with a slight scowl.

"If you'd inherited the farm, you would have let it go to ruin, but I've managed to turn it into a relatively successful organic produce farm. Try to argue with me, Barney. You can't," Clint countered. Barney rolled his navy blue eyes and took the coffee pot out from the maker so he could pour himself a fresh hot mug of the black liquid.

"Well, I want a look around. Haven't been here in a while, and I'd like to see everything," he said.

"If you're expecting a solo tour, think twice," Clint all but chirped. "You think I'm letting you walk around by yourself, you're damn out of your mind."

Barney looked over at Natasha with a bored expression. "No one here trusts Uncle Barney."

"Give me a reason, and I will," Natasha pointed out. Barney grinned at her and raised his mug in her direction, as if he were toasting her.

"Where the hell is the tea?" Clint grumbled in the background. Barney turned his head.

"Looking for this?" Out of nowhere, he produced a tea bag in his hand, and he laughed at Clint's annoyed grunt.

"Goddammit, Barn, we're not fucking circus kids anymore," he snapped, but he took the tea.

"That's where you're wrong," Barney answered, his response directed towards Clint but his gaze still on Natasha. "You can take the kids out of the circus, but you can never fully take the circus out of the kids."

"As charming as all of this is, I'm going to shower, and then I'm going to teach myself how to run an herb garden, so…if you'll excuse me." Natasha took a step back, feeling the Glock tucked into her sweatpants against her hipbone.

"I'll bring your tea upstairs, Nat," Clint said as she turned over her shoulder.

"Ok," she said. "I'll see you upstairs."

_If you hurt him, I will not rest, Barney Barton_, she thought.

_If you so much as think about hurting him, I will not hesitate to hurt you_, she wanted to warn.

_I will not trust you until I can trust he is safe with you_.


	11. Confrontation

**Shoutouts to pinoychick143, Jo, pengineer, Guest, Guest 13, F1am3tta, MissSunshine, and kJennyf for reviewing!**

**So this chapter has a good bit of action in it. Before I go any further, I do want to make it clear that this is _not _a mission fic the way _Girl, Compromised _and _Hawkeye, Compromised _were. There's a fight scene in this chapter, but it's not turning into an action fic the way the others were. This fic has a different tone and a different theme behind it that I'm getting at, so I just wanted to give a heads up that even though there's an action-y fight scene here, it's still not turning into an action fic.**

**That being said, I hope y'all are enjoying yourselves! I know this is a day late, but again, thank you for your patience =)**

**For extra emotions, listen to "Hey Brother" - Avicii!**

**As always, keep leaving thoughts and opinions!**

**Enjoy! =)**

* * *

><p>Chapter 11<p>

"What the hell is she doing?" Barney squinted his eyes and stared out the back window as Clint came to join him.

"She's gardening. Or trying to. I think she's Googling how to start an herb garden," Clint answered, his eyes locking on Natasha sitting on the ground outside by a patch of dirt that was home to a few herbs he liked to keep growing on the farm. One half of him was surprised that Natasha was taking on the task of an herb garden. Whenever it came to missions, she could make it seem as though she were the world's most patient human being, but Clint knew that she was—on the inside—dying from impatience. She hated sitting around and waiting just as much as he did. The only difference was that she was better at it. So to see Natasha Romanoff, time efficient planner, sitting on the ground while researching how to start an herb garden was a sight he'd never expected to see. However, Natasha running an herb garden also kind of made sense, as crazy as he knew that that sounded. If anyone could run an herb garden, it would be Natasha Romanoff: the Black Widow.

"She's really going at it, huh?" Barney mused out loud.

"I guess so." Clint watched her pick up a pack of seeds and turn it over in her hands. "I don't even know where she got those seeds from. Must have found them somewhere in the house."

"Mom always kept a thing of seeds in the pantry. 'Member that?" Barney asked. Clint shot him a look that clearly conveyed "shut the hell up," and then he crossed back into the kitchen.

"When are you leaving again?" he asked.

"Soon. Not sticking around forever. Told you I'd be out of your hair in no time. So how long have you and the girlfriend been holing up here?" Barney gestured out back towards Natasha while Clint scowled at the label his brother had chosen for her.

"She's not my girlfriend," he protested. "Jesus. How many fucking times do I need to tell you?"

"You're so testy. So. How long have you been here? You didn't just get here because your stuff's all moved in, but you haven't been here _that _long because you haven't fallen into your regular habits whenever you feel at home in a place." Barney started towards the front door and peered out of it, as though he were looking for someone or something, but Clint knew that it was just habit. When you were used to people hunting for you, you just knew to always be on the lookout; you never knew when someone would appear out of nowhere.

"Not long," Clint said vaguely. "What the hell are you doing?"

Barney opened the front door and started out across the porch. "I told you I wanted a look around the farm. Can't I take my look around now?" He glanced over his shoulder in Clint's direction and smirked. "What? You don't trust me or something?"

"Hell no," Clint grumbled, but like the dutiful little brother he'd always been, he followed behind. Angrily, he stalked after Barney, hating how he still felt like the kid brother, even though he was damn near 35 years old. It'd been a long time since he'd felt like this; after so many years of being on his own, it was strange to fall back into the pattern, the dynamics that came from having an older brother again. He couldn't ever fully escape what it was like to have an older brother, but he'd gotten pretty good at pretending he didn't over the years.

Barney's hair was still wet from the shower he'd taken half an hour ago after his breakfast of coffee and half-burnt toast, and as Clint walked behind him, all he could think of was their father. Their father had had that same rusty hair, that same build. Clint wondered if Barney ever realized it or if he were completely oblivious to it. Briefly, he remembered how Barney had slapped him when they were kids after Clint had told him he looked like Dad. Yeah, Barney was aware of it.

Clint followed Barney into the barn. "Why do you want to see the barn?"

"Am I not allowed to see the damn barn? It's a barn. We spent a lot of time here. I'm visiting my past," Barney snorted. Clint suppressed the urge to sigh. Folding his arms over his chest, he watched Barney wander around, and he wondered how the hell he'd gotten to be in this position. Truth be told, he only had himself to blame for it.

"We didn't exactly spend time here out of choice," he replied.

"The hell you talking about? Of course we did. We played in here," Barney said with a dismissive tone. He peered into the stalls and pet the horses whenever they came over to him.

"We mainly came to the barn to hide from Dad. The loft? Do I need to remind you of that?" Clint asked irritably.

"Of course not. I remember our childhood perfectly. I know we came here when Dad got too crazy. Think I could forget that?" Barney's mouth drew downward the more he talked.

"Then why do you want to come here so badly?" Clint asked.

"Do I have to explain everything to you? Can't I just want to see this place for the hell of it? I've been back to the farm every so often over the years, but I haven't had a chance to look around. I'd like that opportunity."

Clint folded his arms tighter over his chest and shifted his jaw to the side. "Since when are you the sentimental one? You always told me that that was my problem. You were the one who beat the shit out of everyone left and right, and I was the one who cried about it."

"Never said I was here for sentimental reasons." Barney gave a flippant shrug and started towards the ladder that led up to the loft.

"Barn—Barney, what the hell are you—why are you—"

"Dammit, Clint, enough with the questions!" Barney snapped. And because Clint knew how to take orders and not question them, he shut his mouth and watched unhappily as his brother climbed the ladder and disappeared into the loft. "Huh. You know our names are still carved into the wall up here?"

"Doesn't surprise me. No one goes up there anymore, so I doubt anyone would be up there to see it," Clint droned, his voice flat and bored. He remembered hiding up there one specific time with Barney when they were young. Barney had had a knife with him, and at the time, Clint had thought that Barney had only brought it because he liked it. Now Clint knew differently. He knew that Barney had taken that knife with them because he'd been afraid of their father.

They'd been hiding up there in the loft for hours, and Clint had started to cry when Barney had started carving out their names on the wall. Clint had been too young to actually know how to spell his name, but Barney had left him draw a line beneath his name after Barney had carved it for him.

Clint hadn't thought about that wall carving in years. Actually, he'd forgotten all about it until Barney had just mentioned it, but now that he remembered it, he could picture it clearly in his head. Part of him was tempted to climb up the ladder just to go look at it, if nothing else, but he didn't want to. He couldn't face all the memories he'd left behind him up there, so he stayed exactly where he was, and he waited for Barney to come down.

"Where's your bow?" he asked out loud. "You said you left it in here."

"Hid it in the tack room behind the saddles," Barney called down.

"Oh. Yeah, I wouldn't have found it in there."

"Which is why I hid it there." Barney's copper head appeared over the railing, and he started to climb back down the ladder towards where Clint was. He lowered himself down to the ground and smirked at Clint once his feet were back down on Earth. "Alright. Shall we?"

"I guess we shall."

* * *

><p>Natasha could fight aliens from outer space, take down the government, and help shoot helicarriers out of the sky. She could kill people and fall asleep the same night and wake up to do it all over again the next day. What she could not do, however, was garden. Or at least she didn't think she could. She sat beside the patch of dirt she'd directed her attention to for the last hour and stared at the seeds she'd just planted. She knew that the seeds wouldn't turn into plants under her gaze, but she wished they would. God, she hated waiting.<p>

Suddenly, she sensed someone walking up behind her. Whipping her head to the side, she was about to move into a defensive position when she saw Emily Wheeler holding Mary Katherine. The woman smiled brightly at her—she didn't seem to do anything that wasn't bright—and she lifted a hand in a wave.

"Hi!" she greeted. "I drove over to drop David's lunch off, and I thought I'd just stop in and see how you were doing. Also to thank you for coming over again last night. I'm glad we were able to make it work."

Natasha smiled back and lifted her hand to shield her eyes as the sun hit them. "Hi, yeah, come on over. Thank you again for inviting us over last night." She gestured towards the dirt patch. "I'm trying to figure out how to run an herb garden."

"That's fun!" Emily replied. She crossed towards Natasha and easily sank down to the ground beside her, holding the baby in her arms as she did so. "What are you planting?"

"I think I just planted some rosemary and basil, but I'm not entirely sure." Natasha held up the empty packets. "I've never done this before. I'm…more of a city girl."

"That's ok. There's always plenty of time to learn. Having an herb garden can either be fun or stressful. I used to have one when I was a kid, and I still do, but I don't keep up with it as much as I should now that the baby's here." Emily looked around at the other plants growing in the herb garden. "Looks like you have a nice selection going on here."

"Thanks. I don't really know what all of it is, but I'm trying to learn." Natasha gave all of the plants a mildly disdainful glance. "Like I said. City girl. I don't know anything about plants other than what's on my salad."

"This must be such a change for you. Getting to be out here in the country when you're used to the city. It's a very different way of living, that's for sure," Emily said as she tucked a piece of hair back behind her ear. Natasha's eyes darted down to Mary Katherine, who was sleeping peacefully in Emily's arms. The baby was so tiny, and yet she looked so good and calm.

"It's a change," Natasha admitted. "But I like it. It was a good change, and it happened at the right time when Clint and I needed it."

"We don't have much here, but we have enough," Emily said with a simple shrug. She didn't mean the words to be profound, but Natasha took them as profound. She looked up and around her at the land. What Emily said was true. There wasn't much on the farm, but as Natasha looked at everything that surrounded her on all sides, she found that she had everything she needed. She had a roof over her head, food, water, and Clint. And if she had nothing else, that was ok because anything else was extra.

"You're right," she said softly. "It's enough."

"David said Clint called the day off. Is he ok? I don't mean to pry, but I just wanted to check," Emily asked, not realizing that her words had affected Natasha so strongly. The blonde assassin blinked a few times as she realized that Emily was speaking to her, and then she nodded.

"Yes," she said finally. "He had some things he needed to take care of, but he's ok. I'm ok, and he's ok. We're both ok."

"Good." Emily's smile continued to light up her face, and she looked down at the baby in her arms. Natasha followed her gaze and also smiled at the sleeping little bundle.

"She seems like a good baby," she said. "Sweet-tempered."

"She is. She's been a blessing. Don't know how David and I got so lucky to have her, but she's good. Very quiet. Very curious and interested in everything happening around her. I know it sounds dumb to say that she's only a few months old and has a personality, but she does." Emily's face softened the more she talked about Mary Katherine, and if it were possible, she seemed to brighten up even more. Glancing over at Natasha, she nodded towards Mary Katherine. "Do you want to hold her?"

"Oh." Natasha blinked. "I'm—I don't know—I'm afraid I'll drop her or hurt her or—"

"She's a farmer's baby. She's a tough little thing." Emily held Mary Katherine out towards Natasha, who was now starting to sputter around a little bit.

"My hands are dirty," she said.

Emily threw her head back and laughed. "Like I said. She's a farmer's baby. She's seen her share of dirt. Wipe your hands on your jeans, and you'll be fine. She will be, too."

Natasha realized that there was no way out of this, so she wiped her hands against the thighs of her jeans as well as she could, and she held her arms out to take the baby. It wasn't that she disliked kids—she liked them. She really did. She just didn't know what to do with them. Back when she'd been a kid, she'd learned about killing and seduction, not tenderness and affection. She knew that she was capable of being tender and affectionate, but sometimes it took a few seconds for her to remember it.

Emily moved closer to Natasha and handed Mary Katherine off to her. "There you go. Just like that. See? She's sleeping through it. You're doing fine."

And then Natasha was holding a baby. She stared down at the tiny little face in her arms, and she blinked several times as she tried to reconcile herself to the fact that she, the Black Widow, was holding a brand new little life in the same arms that she'd used to kill people. Swallowing, she looked back up at Emily and saw how delighted she was—how clueless. Emily had no idea who Natasha really was or what she'd done, and here she was trusting her with this teeny baby girl.

"She's—she's really light," Natasha said lamely.

"Isn't she? She's a little thing." Emily drew her knees in towards her chest and hugged them while she watched Natasha hold her.

"Nat? Hey, Nat!" Clint's voice distracted Natasha, and she looked up to see both him and Barney walking towards them.

_Shit, _Natasha thought.

"Hey!" Natasha called back. "We have company!"

If Clint were suddenly concerned over Emily seeing Barney, he didn't show a sign. He crossed towards them and waved at Emily. "Hi, Emily. To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"I drove over to give David his lunch, and I thought I'd swing in to see Nat," Emily replied, her easy smile still present on her face.

"We were talking about herb gardens and babies," Natasha deadpanned in a way that was more Natasha, the SHIELD agent than Nat, the farmer's wife. Clint laughed and knelt down beside the baby.

"Looks like we have a _little _visitor!" he quietly exclaimed. "My, my. You are just as gorgeous as you were last night, little lady."

"Want to hold her?" Natasha asked. "You can hold her."

"No, I'm fine, thank you. This is such a pretty sight that I don't want to ruin it." His eyes lingered over her holding the baby, and he smiled a little softer than he usually would before he realized that they weren't exactly alone. "Emily, you got here just in time to see my brother before he heads out. Barney stopped by for a quick visit, and he'll be leaving soon. Barney, remember Emily from Elementary School?"

Barney stepped forward, all sincerity and pleasantry across his mouth. "Hi, ma'am. It's been a while since we've seen each other."

"I remember you," Emily replied. "You were several grades above us, but I remember you."

"She remembers you punching people," Clint corrected. Barney laughed and gave a good-natured shrug, managing to do a good job at looking sheepish.

"What can I say?" he asked. "I was a bit of a wild one when I was young."

"How long are you in town for, Barney?" Emily asked, lifting her hand to shield her eyes, too, much like Natasha was doing.

"Not long. I'm on my way out soon. I was just in the area and thought I'd swing through and see my kid brother. It's been a while since we've had a chance to catch up, so it was nice to see him again." Barney clapped Clint on the back. "Hey, listen, I'm going to head inside and start pulling my things together. I'll see you in a second, ok?"

Clint's jaw tensed just a little bit, but he nodded. "Ok. I'll see you inside."

"It was lovely seeing you again, ma'am." Barney nodded towards Emily. "Your little one, too."

"Nice seeing you, too, Barney." Emily lifted her hand in a small wave as Barney glanced back and forth between Clint and Natasha before starting towards the house. "Wow. It's been even longer since I've seen him."

"It's a little bit of a family reunion here. Lots of coming home going on," Clint said. He was sure to keep his tone vague, but Natasha knew that he was stressed and didn't want to stay there when he could be monitoring his brother.

"That can be a good thing," Emily commented.

"Yeah," Clint agreed, his blue eyes still trained on Barney's back. "It can be."

"You sure you don't want to hold her?" Natasha interjected. Mary Katherine stirred in her hold, and she looked down to see that the tiny little girl had freed an arm from her blanket, so her miniature fingers were on display. "Her fingers…they're so little."

"Aren't they?" Emily leaned forward to look at them. "Babies are fascinating."

"They are," Natasha admitted. A piece of blonde hair fell forward into her face, and she was about to move it back when Clint reached out and tucked it back behind her ear for her. With a quiet glance, she looked up and over at him and found him watching her with those silent, piercing eyes of his. His face was a mixture of emotions—she could see a muted happiness lying in his features, but she could also sense a bit of sadness that she couldn't quite place.

"I should probably get going. I just wanted to check in for a quick little visit, but since you have company I'll get out of your hair," Emily said, breaking Natasha's concentration. "We're still on for lunch on Monday, Nat?"

"Yes," Natasha said as she brought herself to Earth. "I'm still good for lunch if you are."

"Perfect. Here, I'll take her." Emily reached out to take Mary Katherine back. As Natasha handed the baby back, she was surprised to feel a tiny pang in her heart at giving the baby up. She'd never had maternal feelings before, and she couldn't exactly label what she was currently feeling as maternal, but it was something brand new.

"Thanks for stopping in," she said. "It was nice to have some company while I tried to figure out this gardening thing."

"I have some seeds from my own garden that I can bring to lunch on Monday," Emily offered. With ease, she moved into a standing position, and Natasha followed suit. "I can give you a few pointers, too. It can be a little stressful to start an herb garden if you've never done it before."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that. Thank you." The smile that passed over Natasha's face was genuine, and she wiped her hands again on her jeans.

"No problem. I'll see you Monday. I hope you guys enjoy the rest of Barney's visit!" Emily said as she started to walk away.

_This is what it's like_, Natasha thought, lifting her hand to wave one last time to Emily's retreating figure. _This is what it's like to have neighbors who stop by just because they want to see how you're doing. This is how normal people live_.

"What the hell is Barney doing in the house?" she asked Clint under her breath, refusing to let her smile fade just yet.

"No fucking clue," Clint murmured back with his own bright smile. "I don't trust what he's doing in there, though."

"Neither do I. Is it too obvious if we start towards the house now?"

"Just a little bit. Slowly grab your laptop off the ground, and then we'll make our way in."

Natasha bent down and picked up the laptop, folding it into her arms while Clint casually waited for her. They began to walk towards the house, the both of them keeping eyes on Emily as she buckled Mary Katherine into her car seat. "Back door."

"Back door," Clint agreed. The two spies crossed to the backside of the house and opened the door. There wasn't any sound or indication that anyone was inside, but they knew that Barney was there. "Barn?"

Silence. Clint looked over at Natasha with knowing eyes, and she nodded, reaching into her loose flannel to pull out a Glock. When Clint laid eyes on it, he couldn't help smiling. Of course she'd be prepared. To counter her movements, he pulled his own Glock out of the back of his jeans' waistband.

"Barney?" he called again. "Where are you?"

More silence. A string of swear words ran through Clint's head, and he instantly switched into work mode. He trusted Natasha to have his back, and he moved forward into the dining room and through to the kitchen. He sensed Natasha behind him, covering his back, and he kept advancing. When he reached the living room, he peered in and saw nothing. A few of Barney's things lay on the couch, but Barney himself was nowhere to be seen.

Clint paused, and he looked back at Natasha, who gestured up the stairs with her head. He gave a nod, and she started up the stairs, her footsteps light and silent as she made her way up. Their way of working together was flawless—they'd been partners for close to 10 years now, and they knew each other to the point where Clint didn't even notice the transition as Natasha took over leading the way, and he covered her.

"Barney?" Clint called. Natasha reached the top of the stairs, and Clint saw her set both feet onto the landing. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Barney came launching out of the master bedroom and tackled her. Her Glock flew out of her hands, and she hit the floor hard as Barney landed on top of her.

Clint barely had time to process what was happening. His brother had just harmed Natasha. His brother was currently harming Natasha. His brother would continue to harm Natasha unless he did something. "Barney!"

Natasha somehow managed to flip the both of them so that she had the upper hand in the fight, but it didn't last for long. Barney, just as skilled of a fighter as she was, lashed out with his fist, and he collided with her cheekbone. The sound was sickening and made Clint's stomach turn, but he knew Natasha could take a punch. Barney's hand tangled in Natasha's blonde hair, and he pulled hard to immobilize her while he scrambled for her Glock. Once he had the gun, he used his weight to lock Natasha down and keep her from hitting him, and he put the gun to her head.

"Let her go, Barney," Clint demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

"Not trying to hurt her," Barney replied. His breath was labored as he held Natasha captive in his arms to where she couldn't move away from him. "I knew she'd shoot me on sight. But you…I knew you wouldn't shoot me."

"Let her go!" Clint shouted.

"I'm not here to hurt her. Or you. I mean that. I've never lied to you, Clint. I'm not lying to you now." Blood began to trickle down Barney's nose, and even though it was a small victory, Clint felt a tiny sense of satisfaction to see that Natasha had managed to land a punch hard enough to leave a mark.

"Then you let her go, and you walk away." Clint's voice came out as a growl. "You think I won't shoot you? You so much as look at her the wrong way, and I'll shoot you without a second thought. I mean that, Barney. I promise it."

"Is this what we do now?" Barney asked. He edged back with Natasha, her feet dragging against the ground. "We fight and yell and threaten to kill each other?"

"Who started that?" Clint shouted, the panic starting to grow in his chest. "Who was the one who came after the other first? That sure as hell wasn't me, Barney. That was _you_. _You _came after _me._"

"Because you left!" Barney snapped. "You left, and I was stuck with Trick Shot and the Swordsman, and you went off with SHIELD to be their fucking poodle!"

"I didn't want to! They kept me in isolation because I wouldn't cooperate! The only reason I finally switched to SHIELD was because I wanted out!" Clint held his gun steady. "It wasn't until after I'd been working with them for a while that I realized it was my way out of doing whatever the hell we'd been doing. You know we weren't doing good things, Barn. You know we were doing more harm than good—we were the bad guys. Not the good guys."

"You don't think I don't know that?" Barney scoffed. "I'm aware of what we were doing. I knew that we weren't doing Mother Teresa's work on this Earth, but _dammit_, Clint, that was our way of surviving."

"And I found a new way. You didn't. So." Clint tightened his hand on his Glock and took a few steps forward. "Let Natasha go. You don't have any business with her. If you're pissed at me…if you're out to get me…take it out on me. Not her."

Natasha's green eyes were bright and large, but she didn't look afraid. If anything, she looked as though she were in a lot of pain and discomfort from the way that Barney was keeping her locked down. Clint made eye contact with her. _I've got you, Nat_, he thought silently to her. _I've got you_.

"I don't have business with you. I meant it when I said I'm not here to do you harm, Clint. I needed to lay low for a while. I did. I had a place to stay for a night. Got to see my little brother again." Barney eased another step back, and then he planted his feet. Clint watched as Barney lowered the Glock down to the ground, his movements slow and controlled.

"Let her go, Barn. I'm serious. Let her go," he said. Slowly, Barney began to straighten up, and then everything happened too quickly. Clint saw Natasha slam against the wall, and there was a loud, high-pitched sound that erupted throughout his brain. The high screech rendered him incapable of doing anything other than crying out at the pain that burned his ears and made his hearing aids scream. Dropping his Glock, he lifted his hands to rip his aids out, but before he could move too far, he felt something collide with the side of his head.

Then there was darkness.


	12. Surrender

**Shoutouts to beverlie4055, patty cake rocks, pinoychick143, SorchaRossin, AmeliaSkellig, Jo, pengineer, EpicPackage, Black Betty, CreativeDreamer98, F1am3tta, and SharpObject82 for reviewing!**

**This is a pretty intense chapter with a lot of stuff going on, so hold on tight, y'all =)**

**For extra emotions, listen to "Barton Hollow" - The Civil Wars!**

**Thoughts and opinions are always appreciated and encouraged!**

**Enjoy! =)**

* * *

><p>Chapter 12<p>

The world spun around Natasha in large swells that dipped and turned everywhere she looked. She wasn't a doctor, but she'd received enough concussions in her lifetime to know that Barney Barton had probably just given her a concussion by slamming her into the wall the way he had. She tried to pull herself together as she watched him punch Clint and then take off down the stairs. Briefly, she realized that there was a high-pitched shrieking noise. God, that was annoying. Her head was still swimming, but she had to stop it—she had to see if Clint was ok.

A small device on the floor caught Natasha's eye, and she staggered towards it, lifting her foot and shoving her heel down on top of it with as much force as she could manage. The sound stopped, and her head began to clear just a little bit more. Out of the corner of her eye, Clint was already starting to stir.

"Clint, you ok?" she called. He made a noncommittal sound, but it sounded more like a yes than a no, and that was all the confirmation she needed. "Clint, I'm going after Barney. He ran."

That seemed to get his attention, and he looked up at her with squinted blue eyes. "Barney—"

"Yes, he ran, and I'm going after him." She stooped to pick up Clint's Glock that he'd dropped earlier, and she started down the stairs. "If you want to back me up, grab your bow!"

"Nat—"

She was already out the door and running across the front yard before he could say anything further. Pausing, she stopped and looked around her. There was too much open space and no sign of Barney. He couldn't have started towards the fields because she'd see him, and he hadn't taken the truck. There was a small thicket of trees off to her right, and so she started there. If she were running and didn't want to be found, that would be the first place she'd go.

Technically, if she wanted to run and stay hidden, she would climb up into a tree and stay there until the coast was clear, but she didn't know how much of a climber Barney was. Between Clint and Barney, Clint was built more for climbing trees than Barney—the younger Barton was tall and lean whereas Barney had a slightly wider build.

She was just inside the entrance of the thicket when she heard a footstep behind her, and she turned, Glock ready. Barney's fist came flying towards her face, and she ducked. Using her momentum, she swept his feet out from under him and launched forward just as he rolled to the side, effectively evading her. Natasha was surprised to realize that in a way, fighting Barney was kind of like fighting Clint. While Barney and Clint had different strengths and weaknesses while fighting, there was still something about the fluidity and the precision with which they moved. Sometimes she forgot that they'd been trained by the same people in their youth, but now she fully understood it.

A wave of satisfaction came over her as she kicked Barney square in the jaw and saw blood paint his lower lip. He grabbed her foot and began to twist, but she flipped her body over and used her continuing momentum to swing herself up and onto his shoulders. He seemed to realize what she was doing right as she went straight into the motions of her signature move. She flipped him over her and got him flat on the ground on his back. Grabbing her gun, she held it up to his face.

"You don't touch him," she snapped, her tone vicious and unforgiving. "Do you hear me?"

"Nata—"

"_You don't. Touch him_," she hissed. Barney stared up at her, his own blue eyes large and deep like Clint's, and then he nodded.

"Ok," he breathed.

"I'll kill you if you—"

"Natasha, I'm not going to hurt him. I swear. I'm clearing my name." Barney's quietness made Natasha stop talking, and she looked down at him in confusion.

"What?" she whispered.

"I'm clearing my name," he repeated. "I—"

"Natasha!" Clint's voice cut Barney off, and Natasha found herself glancing up to see him advancing towards the both of them. He had an arrow nocked and drawn back, and he was aiming, but he wasn't aiming at her. "Let him up."

Natasha could have argued with him, but she knew that this wasn't her fight. She looked back down at Barney, at his large eyes that reminded her so much of Clint's whenever he stared at her with wonder, and then she leapt back, careful to keep her Glock trained on him. Barney sat up and lifted his hands up. Blood poured out of his mouth and down from his nose, and there was a good chance he'd have a black eye, but he was otherwise unharmed.

"Get out of here," Clint ordered. "I'm not fucking around with you, Barney. You attacked Natasha. If you're not out of here in—"

"Clint, stop," Natasha commanded softly. He stopped speaking and looked over at her with confusion and concern etched deep into the features of his face.

"What?"

She stared hard at Barney. "Tell him what you just told me."

Barney's face hardened, and he spat blood onto the ground. "I got what I came for."

"That's not what you just told me. Tell him what you said to me not even a minute ago." Natasha lowered her Glock. There was no point in threatening him with a gunshot. If he did anything, if he so much as tried any funny business, Clint would shoot him with an arrow. She knew that without a doubt, even though she desperately didn't want the situation to reach that level of intensity.

"What's she talking about, Barney?" Clint angrily demanded. "Come on."

"I'm going to reach into my pocket," Barney said. With a furious glance, Clint exchanged a look with Natasha, and then he looked back at his brother as he saw Barney pull out a flash drive. "This is what I came back for. It's got all the intel on me."

"What is it? Where did you get it?" Clint asked.

"Flash drive. I've gotten my information from various organizations over the past few years. I just finished syncing what SHIELD had on me. It's all here," Barney explained, his tone quiet and level. He looked over to Natasha, as if he were waiting for her to back him up, but she just stared at him with that same look of confusion on her face.

"That's what you got caught lifting," Clint said suddenly. His eyes widened, and he lowered his bow just a little bit. "Isn't it?"

"I kept my main drive with all the information stashed here. Couldn't risk carrying it with me in case I got caught, which I did. After SHIELD collapsed, and the prison I was shoved into let out, I got the flash drive I needed from them, came here, synced it up. I got what I came here for." Barney took a careful step forward. "I didn't come here to hurt you or Natasha or anyone. I came to lay low and get my drive."

"Then what the hell was that back at the house?" Clint shouted, suddenly losing patience. "What's all of this about, Barney?"

"I'm erasing my past, Clint. I knew that if Natasha got to me first back in the house, she wouldn't hesitate to shoot me, so I'm sorry for watching my own ass. After that shit show went down back there, I knew you weren't going to let me walk, so…" Barney trailed off as he realized that Clint didn't seem to be backing down. Natasha watched as the archer advanced forward and swung with all his might, punching Barney across the cheekbone with a solid, resounding smack.

"You son of a bitch!" he shouted. Natasha waited for Barney to punch back, but all he did was take the punch and stumble backwards, his hands rising up towards his cheek to assess the damage. "You couldn't—couldn't tell me all this straight from the beginning? You had to do this whole smoke screen thing? Cloak and dagger? You couldn't come straight out and say, 'Hey, Clint, I'm trying to clear my name'? What the fuck is that?"

"Didn't know if I could trust you, little brother," Barney panted, his eyes flashing.

"When have I _ever _given you reason to not trust me?" Clint shouted. Instead of calming Clint down, all Barney had done was make him angrier. Natasha wanted to go to him—she wanted to take his face in her hands and tell him to walk away, but she knew that he didn't need that. What he needed was to get this out of his system, whatever it was, so she stayed quiet.

"The day you left and stayed away, Clint," Barney sighed. "I get it. SHIELD got you, and they got in your head, so it was better to stay with them. I get that, little brother. But I'm trying to clear my name. I'm erasing my past. Starting over as a free agent. Just like you." His eyes flicked over to Natasha. "Just like you."

Clint lowered his bow even more and let out an outraged sigh. "Jesus."

"You want to check the intel on here? See if it's real? Go ahead. I'm telling the truth." Barney held the flash drive out, waiting for Clint to take it. Natasha turned her green eyes onto her partner and waited, too, because knowing him, he would either take it and look at everything on it, or he'd shoot it straight out of Barney's hand.

However, he did neither of those options. What he did next surprised Natasha completely. He lowered his bow, and he stared directly at Barney. "Go back to the house."

Natasha shoved her Glock into the waistband of her jeans and crossed towards Clint as Barney started walking without protestation. She got close enough to where Clint could hear her, and she kept her voice low. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Clint replied. She stopped and gaped at him with a frown painting over her lovely features.

"Nothing?" she repeated.

"I can't explain it. I don't…I'm tired, Nat. I believe him. Do you?" He looked into her eyes and searched for his answer. Natasha swallowed and looked at Barney's retreating back. He had one hand up to his nose to try to stop the bleeding, and he wasn't trying anything, but Natasha felt that out of habit, she couldn't quite trust him just yet.

_He looks like you when he tells the truth_, she thought.

_I know what you look like when you lie_, her mind whispered.

_You are the most honest man I've ever known, and if I could tattoo your lies on my skin I would_, she wanted to say.

"I do," she said quietly. "I think he's telling the truth this time around."

"He was always telling the truth," Clint corrects, his tone and his face sad as he followed her gaze in the direction of his brother. "I just didn't want to hear it."

* * *

><p>An hour later, Clint returned Barney's laptop to him with a frown. "You weren't kidding."<p>

"Told you I wasn't kidding. Have a few more stops to make with a few more people before I have everything, but I'm slowly getting it all," Barney replied. "SHIELD was just one more name on the list, but they were the first ones to catch me at it."

"Did they know what you were after and why?" Clint asked.

Barney shook his head. "Hell no. I lied and told them I was after something else. Think I'd really trust them enough to tell them why I was there in the first place?"

"Fair enough." Clint leaned back against the couch and surveyed his brother. "So you stashed the drive here on the farm."

"Safest place in the world, isn't it? You've said it yourself in so many words." Barney leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, nodding out in the direction of the barn. "Kept it in the loft. Knew that if you came back at some point, which you were bound to do since this place is your damn organic farm, you wouldn't ever go up there." Clint twisted his mouth into an unhappy expression that made Barney laugh. "And you say we don't know each other anymore."

"Never said that," Clint mumbled while Barney laughed again.

"I know your facial expressions. You might have been trained out of them, but I still know them," he said.

"But why were you in the master bedroom?" Clint asked suddenly. "I get all of this…this hunting and flash drives and erasing your history and whatever…but why were you in the bedroom? Why did you attack Natasha?"

"Granted, I was in your bedroom because I was looking for an extra $100, and I attacked Natasha because I knew she was coming up the stairs first and wouldn't hesitate to shoot me." Barney shrugged without shame, and all Clint could do was glare at him.

"That was the stupidest fucking idea in the world," he said. "And that damn high-pitched thing you have to blow out my hearing aids? What the fuck?"

"A man has to be prepared, Clint-boy. What's Natasha cooking, anyway?" Barney glanced over his shoulder and back into the kitchen. At the thought of Natasha cooking, Clint's face softened. She was terrible at cooking—between the two of them, he was the chef, and he gladly took care of making the food, but every so often, she stepped up to the plate with one of her five dishes she didn't destroy, and tonight was one of those nights.

"Spaghetti," he replied.

"The Russian cooks spaghetti?" Barney's rust-colored eyebrows lifted up in amusement while Clint shot him a look.

"Don't call her that, ok?" he mumbled. "Don't remind her she's Russian. Jesus, Barn, this whole thing has been difficult enough over the past 24 hours. Can you at least try to make things run smoothly with her? You nearly beat the shit out of her, which, if you do it again, I will not hesitate to fucking shoot you next time, ok?"

"Got it."

"No." Clint moved to the edge of the couch and looked hard at Barney. "I don't think you understand. That woman in there is the greatest thing I have going on my life right now, ok? Yeah, yeah, it's funny to sit here and drop spider jokes or girlfriend jokes, but she's the best thing in my life. The best. I'd do anything to keep her safe."

Barney held Clint's gaze, and he was silent for a few seconds. The both of them were at an odd impasse, but neither was willing to back down. Tension filled the room, and for a moment, Clint thought that Barney was going to bust out laughing and tell him that this had all been some kind of weird joke, but he didn't. Instead, Barney just nodded. "I understand."

And this time, Clint believed him.

* * *

><p>The three assassins managed to make it through dinner without things getting terribly awkward. Clint and Barney mainly talked about the people they'd used to know, what Barney was going to do next, and where he was heading after the farm, but Natasha mainly stayed quiet. Again, this moment with Clint and Barney wasn't for her. She was good at keeping to the side, anyway, so she that was what she did.<p>

It wasn't until Clint went out to the barn to do his final check on the horses for the night that Natasha got a moment alone with Barney. She didn't trust the older Barton—not by a long shot. She didn't trust him, and she didn't think she could see it happening any time soon, but the thing was that she wanted to. She wanted to trust him the way Clint had once before, and as she watched Barney wash the dishes, she felt that she probably could someday trust him. Maybe. Hopefully. After all, this was the same person who'd protected Clint when they were kids. She would always thank him for that, she knew.

"Clint take you to meet Mom and Dad yet?" Barney asked, breaking the mildly awkward silence in the kitchen. Natasha hoisted herself up onto the counter, and she sat on it as she watched him. Frowning, she shook her head.

"No," she replied. "He hasn't."

"I'm surprised. Seems like the kind of thing he'd do." Barney dried off one of the dishes and set it in the dish rack. He glanced up at her with his navy blue eyes. "He hasn't told you much about the farm or our childhood, has he?"

"Not much more than I needed to know. I don't ask, and he doesn't tell what he doesn't want to." Natasha kept her cool gaze on him. She didn't know what he was getting at, nor was she entirely sure that she wanted to know. Clint's past was something that he kept deep down inside his chest; he only opened the doors whenever he wanted to, and she didn't feel as thought it were her right to force him to open them for her just because she was curious.

"You know our dad almost killed Clint once?" Barney asked. Natasha paused, and then she nodded, remembering the time in Budapest when Clint had told her.

"Yes," she said quietly.

"Worst damn day of my life. Either that or the day I thought Clint had left for good." Barney didn't look at her as he finished drying the dish. "Clint tell you I look like our dad?"

"He's mentioned before that he looks like his mom, so I kind of assumed you took more after your father," Natasha replied. Barney nodded.

"I think that's one of the reasons why he gets so angry," he said. "Don't tell him I said that. He'll be pissed."

Natasha found herself nodding, still feeling confused why Barney was sharing all of this with her. "Ok."

"Our mom was sweet. She never could figure out how to stand up for us…but she was sweet. She didn't know how to stand up for herself, so naturally, she couldn't figure out how to do it for Clint and me. Did you know Clint used to say he didn't want a wife?" Barney finally looked over at her again.

Natasha blinked. "No."

"Used to talk about how he didn't want a wife because he didn't want to end up like Dad. Said the risk was too much. Used to talk about how he didn't believe in marriage and things like that. And yet," Barney set down the plate and turned to face Natasha, "here we are."

Her frown deepened. "We're not married."

"I know." Barney nodded. "Not on paper, anyway. But your heart." He pointed at her. "That's where it matters."

Suddenly feeling strangely vulnerable, Natasha tilted her head to the side and wished she were where she could fold her arms over her chest to hide herself without looking obvious. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I believe that you are the one person my brother would truly kill me for," Barney announced. He leaned against the sink and gazed at her with an unreadable expression. "And I'm glad."

"That's…the strangest thing anyone's ever said to me." Natasha thought about getting up and leaving, but she also didn't want to miss out on the rest of what Barney had to say.

"I'm glad because it means he's not alone. And that's what I've been worried about for all these years. That he was alone. That's all." Barney shrugged, turning back to the dishes and continuing. "I just didn't want him to be alone."

"And you're telling me this because…" Natasha started out, trailing off to let him finish. She caught the white flash of his smile from the side as he turned the faucet back on to get the water going.

"No reason. Just because. I'm also tired of you looking at me like I'm going to stab him in the back. Promise I'm not." Barney smirked at her, and she found herself rolling her eyes with a small smile.

"After you beat us up today, don't expect me to be your number one fan," she drily remarked.

"Clint ever tell you he used to have a bit of a lisp?" Barney asked suddenly. Natasha's face melted into a smile, and she shook her head.

"No."

"He did. It didn't last for long, but he couldn't say his r's right, so my name came out as Bawney Bawton whenever he'd try to say it."

The sound of the front door opening caught both Natasha and Barney's attentions, and they turned to look at Clint as he walked into the kitchen. "Locked everything down. Horses have food and water. Everything's good. House hasn't burned down, either, and the both of you are still alive, so I'm guessing that that's good, too."

"You didn't tell me you used to have a lisp," Natasha accused. Clint froze, his eyes wide, and he looked over at Barney.

"What the hell?" he asked. "You're telling childhood stories?"

"Thought she'd want to know." Barney tried to look innocent. "They're just stories. I didn't tell her about how you cried when you lost your first tooth."

"No," Natasha said. Clint winced and rubbed the back of his neck, his grin slowly starting to rise up into his mouth.

"I was sensitive," he said. "I…I didn't want to part with my teeth."

"Yeah, ok," Barney snorted.

"Hey, where are you going next?" Clint asked, changing the subject. "You have SHIELD's intel on you. Where to now?"

"Can't say. Don't want anyone catching up with me and finding you that you might know a thing," Barney replied. He set the dish he'd just finished drying in the dish drain and exchanged a look with Natasha. "You guys don't need to be sucked into my shit."

"I think we're sucked in pretty far," Clint countered. "What are you going to do, Barn?"

"I'll let you know once I've done it."

"Barn."

"I will! That's a promise. I'm not going to completely disappear on you, kid. I will for a while. But not for centuries. And the next time I see you again, I ain't going to try to kill you." Barney smirked at his own joke, and he grinned over his shoulder in Clint's direction. Natasha could tell a goodbye when she heard one, and she knew what Barney was trying to say, but she didn't comment on it. If Clint knew, he didn't say anything, either. He just kept standing there, looking at his brother as if he couldn't get used to the idea that he had him back.

* * *

><p>Later that night, after Clint had brushed his teeth and gotten into bed with Natasha, he noticed her quietness. She'd spent the last hour going through more information from the SHIELD leak, but she'd been extra resigned and silent than usual. He'd noticed it throughout dinner, and he'd noticed it after they'd left Barney downstairs on the couch to finish doing whatever it was he needed with his flash drive.<p>

"Hey, Nat," he said out loud. She looked up at him.

"Are you going to sleep? You can turn the light out," she said.

"You ok?" Clint leaned back into his small pile of pillows and stared at her. God, she'd never get used to those beautiful blue eyes of his, she thought to herself. She remembered the first time she'd seen them—how they'd left her breathless and vulnerable. Funny enough, she still felt the same way every time she saw them.

"Yeah. I'm good. Pretty sure I have a mild concussion, but otherwise, I'm just fine," she replied, confused.

"You've been quiet tonight."

"I didn't want to interfere with brother bonding."

Clint snorted. "I wouldn't call it bonding."

"Still. I didn't want to distract either of you from it. This whole weird arrangement that's going on with you two…"

"I can't explain it. I don't even know, Nat. It's…the whole thing's complicated."

"I can definitely agree with that." Natasha looked back at her laptop and scribbled a few notes down. "People are out looking for us, by the way."

"I'm not surprised."

"Neither am I."

"Nat."

She looked up again from her notepad. "Yes?"

"What's got you so quiet?" Clint frowned quizzically at her. "You're not yourself."

Sadly, she gave him a small smile and shook her head. "I'm a spy. I'm never myself."

"I don't believe that," he retorted with his own little smile. "I know you. I know when you're you."

She didn't look at him, nor did she say anything for a few seconds. Because it was true. Clint did know her. He knew her no matter how much she still tried to shut him out or throw him off the familiar path of her heart—shutting him out from time to time wasn't even a thing she did on purpose; if anything, she did it out of habit because getting comfortable meant possibly dying. The Red Room had taught her that. But with Clint…he was the one constant thing in her life. He always had been since the day he'd lowered his gun and told her he was taking her in instead. And with Clint, nothing meant death. Clint represented life and second chances and home and love and everything that made her smile. Clint was being comfortable and staying comfortable. He knew her, and if that familiarity meant that she had to risk her heart and her life sometimes, then she'd willingly lay her soul down on the tracks for him.

"You do," she quietly agreed. "Everything's just been a little crazy. These past 48 hours…Barney showing up…David and Emily…"

"You're right. It's crazy. Hell, the past few weeks have been crazy. I'm _still _trying to get used to the fact that SHIELD's gone. We're free agents. We don't work for anyone. How fucking nuts is that?" Clint mumbled.

"Very." She shut the lid of her laptop. "I think I just need sleep."

"Then come on, deadly girl. Let's go to sleep."

She set her laptop on the floor beside her and watched Clint turn off the lamp on his nightstand. Listening in the darkness, she heard him take out his hearing aids, and she waited for him to roll towards her before she scooted in close to share in the warmth of his body. Yes, he knew her. He knew that when she was quiet like this, something was going on her head, but she didn't want him to know what was going on with her just yet.

There was a time and place to talk about everything, and this conversation was one she'd been avoiding with him for years.

* * *

><p>When Clint wandered downstairs the next morning, he knew Barney was gone. He could sense it in the way the house existed around him, and he could feel it in the air. Just like that, his brother had come, and his brother had gone. He almost didn't go into the living room—he almost stayed away, if only to keep fooling himself. Clint hadn't expected Barney to stick around. He knew that whenever his brother put his mind to something, he didn't rest until it'd been taken care of, and that meant Barney wouldn't rest until he'd collected all of the intel he needed in order to delete his past life.<p>

And honestly, Clint couldn't blame him.

He walked into the living room and saw the spot on the couch where Barney had sat last night. Sure enough, there was no sign of him. Barney had disappeared, taking his things with him. But there on the coffee table, smack in the middle, was an arrow with a white handkerchief tied around the top.

A truce.

A surrender.

And even though, Barney wasn't around to hear, Clint gave his answer.

"Ok."


	13. Perfect

**Shoutouts to Guest, SorchaRossin, CreativeDreamer98, patty cake rocks, Jo, kissmyquiver, pengineer, pinoychick143, SharpObjects82, Black Widow and Hawkeye OTP, Black Betty, nikki, MaddieFayeth96, and AmeliaSkellig for reviewing!**

**I had a question on how much longer this fic is going to be. I'm not exactly sure, but I'd like to get this wrapped up by Chapter 20 =) Hopefully y'all don't mind that there are going to be, at the most, seven more chapters!**

**We've got some filler stuff and some important stuff going on in this chapter, and it shouldn't be too painful until the very end, but even then I don't think it's that painful =)**

**For extra emotions, listen to "Out of the Woods" - Taylor Swift!**

**I love knowing what y'all think, so feel free to keep it up! ;)**

**Enjoy! =)**

* * *

><p>Chapter 13<p>

The next month passed smoothly. Clint's skills grew as a farmer, and Natasha slowly became more invested in her garden. By day, they played the part of husband wife perfectly, but at night, they slid back into their cozy shells of spies, scrolling through information and hacking encrypted files whenever they came across them. Even though they'd looked through hundreds—probably more like thousands—of files, they still had a never-ending sea to sort through.

"What do you think Rogers is doing?" Clint asked one night over dinner.

"Beats me." Natasha shrugged. "Looking for Barnes still probably."

"But where?" Clint asked. Again, Natasha shrugged.

"I don't know. I think he knows where Barnes would go better than anyone else would. If anyone will find him, it'll be Steve." She put another bite of fresh salad in her mouth. "I got the feeling that he's going to search for Barnes until he finds him."

"That's the thing about Rogers." Clint paused and looked up. "He's loyal. He doesn't give up."

"Exactly," Natasha agreed. "He's Captain America. He didn't earn the title for nothing. After all these years…after everything Barnes has done…Steve's still going after him. It's admirable, really."

"It's what you would do." Clint's gaze went soft, and Natasha took a few seconds to process his statement. He always saw the best side of her, whether or not she saw it, too, and she appreciated that about him. He'd seen the best side of her since the first time he'd laid eyes on her, and he'd just shrugged it off and said that he hadn't been able to hurt her when she'd been in pain.

"Not for everyone," she countered.

"Not for everyone," he agreed. "Just the special few."

"Speaking of the special few, I can't wait until I get my hands on Coulson again," Natasha spoke up. Clint's jaw tightened, and she instantly regretted mentioning the man. Coulson's death had been hard on Clint—that wasn't a secret. He'd grieved quietly and pushed down his pain to deal with everything else going on his life at the time, and he'd never fully gotten over it. He'd learned to live with that muted sense of grief and pain, something she'd learned to do, too.

And now to learn that Coulson was alive. Coulson had been alive for years, and no one had bothered to let his two most handled agents know. Natasha had never expected any kind of special treatment for who she was—she hadn't expected it before she'd defected to the United States, nor had she expected it once she'd been accepted as a full-fledged SHIELD agent. While she liked attention to some degree, she loved being able to blend in. She loved hiding and observing from the sidelines, and she was damn good at it. To think that her reputation had had any pull to get her special treatment or extra information was unpleasant for her. She'd tried to avoid it ever since joining up with SHIELD, but now she suddenly wished that someone had told her about Coulson.

"Seems to be that faking deaths are common around SHIELD," Clint drily replied after taking a quick beat of silence. Natasha picked up on the shade he was dropping about Fury, and her mouth quirked up into a half-smile.

"That much is true," she said. She tried to keep up the half-smile, but it dropped back down. And Clint, observant and as true to his call name as always, noticed it.

"Something's bugging you," he announced. She glanced up at him and then back down at her salad, her expression a mixture of rueful and disappointed for reasons Clint didn't know.

"Fury said he didn't know who he could trust," she said, her voice slow and even. "He trusted only a handful of people to know about his faked death. Maria…like, two doctors…no one else knew."

"Yeah. It's Fury," Clint said, waiting for her to explain what was upsetting her. She sighed and looked up again from her salad.

"He said he didn't know who to trust," she repeated. "He made it very clear that he wasn't sure whether or not he could trust me. And…I don't know…after all the times I've risked my ass for him? Followed him into battle against a bunch of aliens? Literally handed the world's worst men directly into his grasp? And he still couldn't trust me?"

"Pierce was a sneaky son of a bitch who'd done shit like that, too," Clint pointed out.

Natasha nodded, conceding towards him. "You're right. And I know that. But it just gets a little tiresome with the whole nobody trusts me thing. I've been on the straight and narrow for years now. Well…I _thought_ I was. You and I both thought that." She paused and tilted her head to the side. "How've you been holding up through all of this? This whole time I've been going on and on about how bad _I _feel over it, and I haven't even checked in with you."

Clint scoffed and half-rolled his eyes. "You don't have to check in with me."

Natasha blinked a few times, frowning. "Of course I do. You're my partner. I'm supposed to have your back. I haven't really done a very good job of that since we've been here."

Leaning forward, Clint grinned and took a bite of his food. "What have you had to have my back from here? Too much fresh air? Runaway cows? Nat, you don't have to worry about having my back when we aren't in danger anymore. We had our little brush with Barney, and that wasn't even danger so much as action."

"I can have your back in more ways than one, Clint," Natasha softly replied, her eyes glued to him. "You know that. And I haven't had yours very well. So talk to me. What do you think of all this SHIELD stuff?"

Clint shifted his jaw to the side and shrugged as he thought about it. "I've said my share before. My thoughts haven't really changed. Honestly, I think I'm still in shock. Like you, I thought I'd gone good. I did that whole spiel to Barney, too, about doing the right thing and turning my life around, but I mean…I didn't. I was working for HYDRA. How many of our missions were SHIELD's, and how many were HYDRA's? We don't know the answer, and the thing is, we never will."

"And you're ok with that?" Natasha asked. Clint frowned and shook his head, his blue eyes going slightly darker.

"God. No. Not at all. I'm never going to be ok with that. I thought I was done being a criminal, and I thought I was done being controlled by someone else." He looked down on the last part of his statement, and he put his eyes on his food as if the vegetables on his plate were suddenly the most interesting parts of his life just then.

"But it's bothering you more than you've been letting on," Natasha guessed. Clint nodded, and then he paused, shaking his head after a few seconds.

"Yes and no. I mean…I'm surprised by everything that happened, but I'm also not. Now that I'm looking back on everything, I can see tiny little hints, tiny little hairline fractures that had I given it more thought, I would have noticed. Not that that means anything in the long run because HYDRA was too firmly involved with SHIELD but…I don't know. It's just a shitty situation all around." Clint lowered his fork before lifting his hand up and running it through his short dark blond hair. He needed a haircut, Natasha thought, but she didn't want to say it to him just then and ruin the serious mood they had going on.

"It is. For the first time ever in my entire life, I'm a free agent, and I don't know how to be one." She gave a soft, short laugh and smirked at Clint. "So I kind of get the controlled by someone else thing."

"Why do you think no one from the team stepped in?" Clint asked suddenly. "It was just you and Rogers taking all of that down. Where was Stark? Where was Banner?"

"It was probably a good thing Banner didn't show, Thor could be anywhere in the world—hell, the _galaxy _for all we know, and Stark…you know how Stark is. He shows up when he wants to. Word on the street is that he got his arc reactor removed, anyway, so who knows if he's playing Iron Man these days," Natasha replied with a shrug.

"That's right. Still. No one stepped in to help you guys." Clint frowned.

"And _you _were in Mexico," Natasha finished with a flourish. "So everyone was busy. Main point is that HYDRA was taken care of. Kind of. At least Project Insight is done and destroyed. Any and all evidence of it is lying in the Hudson."

"Truth." Clint held up his fork and pointed it at her to help her further accentuate her point.

"I guess I'm just beating a dead horse because I'm still struggling over getting used to not being an agent," Natasha said finally. "I think that that's what bothers me more than anything."

"You can be an agent of the Barton Farm," Clint suggested, a small smile making his mouth turn upwards. Appreciating his effort at making her smile, she grinned back at him.

"I think I can live with that."

"Yeah? You can be happy with that?"

Natasha stopped and thought about the past month she'd had there on the farm. She'd seen and done many things in her life; some things she was proud of and other thing she was ashamed of. But she'd done them. As she sat at the table Clint had sat at growing up as a little boy, she thought of every moment she'd shared with him, every moment she'd had here by herself. She thought back to all the hours she'd slaved in the herb garden, failing to make anything grow. She thought back to all the easy smiles she'd seen on Clint's face.

She'd never been on a farm, and she'd never been a farm girl, but she found herself happier than she'd been in a long time. Yes, SHIELD was gone. HYDRA had taken over. She and Clint were being hunted by HYDRA, and they had no way of getting in contact with other friends of theirs. But she was happy. In the back of her mind, she remembered Emily telling her that this town was enough—her life was enough. When Emily had said it, Natasha had agreed, but in that moment, sitting in the dining room with Clint and eating a salad made from fresh vegetables he'd grown himself, she understood.

"Yeah," she replied softly. "I can be happy with that."

* * *

><p>"Clint. No."<p>

"Natasha. Yes."

"No!"

"Yes!"

"I'm not going."

"Yes, you are."

"I am _not _going."

"Natasha Romanoff, I don't care if you put me in your damn thigh chokehold and strangle me. We're going. You can divorce me. You can murder me. You can hide my body and tell everyone I ran off with some young 20 year old if you want. But we're going."

Annoyed, Natasha let out a huff and crossed to the closet, where she opened the door to look inside at all of her clothes that she'd somehow managed to squeeze in there along with Clint's. "Do you know how stupid this is?"

"Nat, it's a tradition."

"To hell with traditions."

"You're Russian. Don't Russians love traditions?"

Natasha shot him a dirty glare, and she ripped her shirt up and over her head as she rifled through her half of the closet. "You owe me."

"You're going to have so much fun. Everyone loves the Spring Festival. Why are you so opposed to going?" Clint leaned against the doorframe and watched Natasha pick a dress off a hanger. She glared furiously at him as she shucked her jeans off and began to step into the dress.

"I've never gone to one of these things. Do you know how out of place I'm going to be?" she asked. "You said there would be pie-eating contests."

"Yeah. There are also going to be pigs. You like pigs," Clint countered. Her scowl came as a sharp slash over her face, and he laughed. "Nat, you're acting like the Spring Festival is the end of the world. It'll be so much fun. I used to love this as a kid. My brother and I always had a blast when we went, and I think you'll have fun, too, if you'll loosen up."

"I don't know how to loosen up," she snapped crossly, which only made him laugh even more.

"That's why this'll be good for you. Nat Barton deserves a good night with us country folk." Clint turned on his Midwestern drawl and watched as Natasha suppressed an amused smile while she slipped her arms into the sleeves of her dress.

"You're not even country folk," she mumbled, though she didn't sound as annoyed anymore. "This is still a populated city. Barely. But it is."

"Well, tonight you are going to watch the country come out in everyone." Clint paused, looking her up and down. "You look nice. Real pretty, Nat."

"Thanks. Can you zip me?" She turned around to put her back to him, and she put her hands on her hips as she waited for him. Clint crossed towards her and zipped her up with one smooth, fluid motion. His hands lingered over her hips, and he took a quick second to press a kiss to the back of her neck.

"You really do look pretty," he said.

"God, you're getting so soft out here," Natasha groaned, but she smiled as she said it. She turned back around to face him, reaching out and smoothing down the front of his nice button down. "You don't look so bad yourself."

Clint beamed. "Don't worry. I won't tell anyone you said that."

"Yeah, you better not." She slipped her feet into a pair of Keds and looked up at Clint. He smiled at her one last time, and then he started down the stairs. And of course, Natasha followed him. She checked Noelle's food and made sure that everything was set while Clint grabbed the keys to the truck, and then she walked with him outside.

For the most part, the drive to the festival was comfortable and quiet except for the Led Zeppelin CD that Clint had softly playing to help make the ride more enjoyable. The festival wasn't too far from the farmhouse, but neither of them liked to ride in the car without music or some kind of noise from the radio playing. Natasha put her feet up on the dash, and Clint let her, silently accepting that even though Natasha Romanoff was in a dress, she would still put her feet up on the dash if she so felt like it. God, he loved her.

When they rolled up into the area used for parking, Natasha looked somewhat less grumpy than she had earlier when she'd been getting dressed. Taking her feet off the dash, she looked out the window at everything happening around them. "It's busy."

"Of course it's busy," Clint snorted. "It's the Spring Festival, and it's evening, when it's busiest."

"There are a lot of people," Natasha pointed out.

"Has that ever scared you before?" Clint gave her a bored look, and she grinned.

"Nope." Opening the door, she hopped out and down onto the grass beside the truck. "David and Emily are supposed to be here. They're bringing Mary Katherine with them, Emily said."

"Yeah, I remember," Clint replied, beaming at the thought of the couple bringing the baby. "It'll be her first Spring Festival, so that's a big deal."

"The Spring Festival is that much of a big deal that a baby's first Spring Festival, one she won't even remember when she's older, mind you, is a monumental, pivotal moment in her life?" Natasha asked. She folded her arms over her chest, the long strap of her small Nat Barton purse draped over her shoulder as she surveyed him with partial amusement and partial disbelief.

"Hey, it's a big deal here. Be nice." Clint held his arm out to her, and she took it, tucking herself into him.

"Well," she sighed. "Then I better get with the times. Show me around. Let me experience this Spring Festival that is so important."

"First off, we have to get cotton candy. It's a tradition. Later on, we'll get funnel cakes drizzled with chocolate, so be careful not to get too full. And even though we're adults now and can have beer, I highly suggest that we get the lemonade here. It's almost as good as your homemade stuff," Clint said, walking along through the crowd. He saw someone he recognized and lifted his hand in a polite wave.

"Cotton candy. Ok. I can live with some cotton candy," Natasha answered with a nod.

"We have animals to look at, vendors selling homemade things, and food vendors, so there's plenty to have outside of the cotton candy and funnel cakes. Like the fries. Those are delicious." Clint's eyes lit up, and Natasha caught a glimpse of his inner child, the one who'd loved coming to the Spring Festival when he was young. She saw the look on his face, the excitement and the happiness, but more than anything, she saw the relaxation there. She could tell that he wasn't worried in the slightest about someone possibly attacking them; he wasn't waiting for people with guns to jump out or a bomb to go off or anything. He was completely separated from the job, and she loved watching him embrace this side of himself.

"We can start with some cotton candy," Natasha decided. "And lemonade."

"Hey, is that David?" Clint asked suddenly, narrowing his eyes as he squinted through the crowd. Smiling, he nodded and lifted another hand to wave. "Yeah, that's David and Emily. See? David's got Mary Katherine, and they're over there talking to someone."

"I'll go tell them we're here. Want to grab the food and drinks?" Natasha asked.

"Sure, yeah. I'll meet up with you guys in a second." Clint lifted a hand to brush over the back of Natasha's hair, and then he went to go stand in line while Natasha made her way over to Wheeler family. David spotted her first, and he waved, gently bouncing Mary Katherine in his arms as Emily continued talking to the older woman who had her attention.

Quietly, Natasha slipped up to the couple and wiggled her fingers in greeting towards Mary Katherine, who was looking at her with large, curious eyes. After a month of Monday lunches—it had somehow turned into a habit; Natasha couldn't even remember how it'd happened, but before she'd known it, she just automatically knew on Mondays she had lunch with Emily—with Mary Katherine in attendance, she'd slowly started opening up and relaxing more around the baby. Babies still made her nervous, but Mary Katherine was pretty ok as far as babies went.

Emily caught sight of Natasha standing beside David, and she gasped. "Nat! This is Sharon Goodweaver! She used to teach at the elementary school David and I went to. Mrs. Goodweaver, this is Nat Barton. She's married to Clint Barton."

"Emily, you've been out of elementary school long enough to call me Sharon. Please," the woman said with a soft laugh before turning her attention to Natasha. "Hi, Nat. You're married to—to Clint Barton?"

"Yes, ma'am," Natasha replied, tacking on the "ma'am" for good measure. It seemed to be something that the older people of Waverly, Iowa liked it, and it definitely got her more brownie points whenever she used it. "Clint Barton's my husband."

"You know, I never actually had the opportunity to teach your husband when he was small, but my husband used to own the local drugstore in town, and I saw him there a lot," Sharon said thoughtfully. "It's a shame, his family situation. He and his brother were such sweet kids, even if the older one got in a lot of fights. What's the older Barton boy's name?"

"Barney," Emily gently added. "He was actually passing through town about a month ago. I got to see him and say hi."

"Barney! Barney Barton. Right, of course." Sharon smiled at the memory. "I didn't get to teach him, either, but I heard enough about them from the other teachers, and I saw them in our store after school hours. What those boys went through was awful. Just awful."

Uncomfortably, Natasha shifted. She felt Emily's eyes worriedly dart towards her, and she even felt David picking up on the tension. She nodded, unsure of how to respond. "Yes. I definitely believe that."

"I was good friends with Clint's First Grade teacher, and I remember how worried she was that he would have to repeat First Grade because he missed so much. He probably should have repeated it, but I don't think anyone had the heart to tell that little boy that after he'd spent so long in the hospital almost dying, he'd have to redo the year," Sharon murmured, her face drawn and sympathetic. "Those boys had a very difficult time."

"They did," Natasha agreed. She glanced over towards the food line where she'd left Clint to make sure he was still occupied, and sure enough, he was almost to the front of the line, looking bored and oblivious to what was happening over here.

"But Clint…the younger Barton boy was a good boy. His teachers always talked about how sweet he was. He had the sweetest face and the prettiest big blue eyes. I'm so glad to see he's back in town. How is he?" Sharon asked, looking up at Natasha with expectant, kind eyes. Natasha paused for just a second to swallow while she composed herself.

"He's—he's good," she managed to say. "He's the best. I'm—I'm very lucky to have him."

"Nat used to work at an art museum," Emily jumped in. "She's from the big city. That's where she and Clint met."

Sharon laughed kindly and lifted her eyebrows. "You'll find that Waverly is very different from the city. But I'm glad you're here, too. I'm glad the both of you are here. You always return to your roots at some point, don't you?"

"I—I don't—" Natasha stammered. And then she took a breath. It wouldn't do any good to falter right here and now in front of everyone, especially in front of someone whom she was meeting for the first time and had known a different side of Clint. "Yes. Yes, you do."

"That's what I always say."

Natasha was about to reply when she noticed Clint walking towards them with a cup of lemonade and a paper cone of cotton candy in each hand. "Clint! Hi. Thank you."

Clint let Natasha take a cup and a cone from one of his hands, and he smiled at everyone. "Hey. Fancy running into you guys here."

"Clint, I was just talking with someone who used to teach at your elementary school," Natasha said. Clint paused and looked at the woman in front of him.

"I never taught you, so you probably don't remember me." Sharon smiled and held her hand out, and Clint took it. "Sharon Goodweaver."

"Clint Barton," he answered, looking mildly confused and surprised at the same time. His blue eyes were large as he blinked, but then his smile turned warmer, and he tightened his grip on her hand. "It's nice to meet you. Or re-meet you."

"I was just talking to your wife, and she's just lovely." Sharon glanced back at Natasha and winked. "It's so nice to see students who've grown up and how they've turned out. I'm glad to see you, Clint Barton."

"Thank you. It's—it's nice to be back." Clint lowered his hand and watched Sharon hug Emily.

"I'll let you guys go now. I have to find my husband," Sharon announced. She reached up and hugged David before patting Mary Katherine on the cheek. When she reached Natasha, she pulled the blonde woman into a hug.

"He's lucky to have you," she said softly. "You're good for him."

Natasha went still, and she watched as Sharon pulled back, winked at her, and then moved to hug Clint. She was used to the affectionate nature most everyone in Waverly, Iowa had, and she was used to the familiarity its citizens used to talk to each other, even with people they didn't know, but it was the comment that had surprised her. She'd heard Maria, Palmer, and several other co-workers say the same to her about Clint, and she knew that they'd told Clint the exact sentence, too, but to hear it from someone who was virtually a stranger was different.

She barely registered Clint talking with David and Emily until she felt him put a hand on the small of her back. Coming back to Earth, she saw that the Wheelers had started leading them somewhere, and she and Clint were falling a little behind. Clint pulled her in a little closer to him. "You good?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm ok. Just absorbing everything."

"That's fine. Take your time."

Emily turned around to look back at Clint and Natasha. "Oh, I had a quick question I wanted to ask the both of you. Would you mind watching Mary Katherine on Saturday night? I know it's a bit last minute, but—"

"Definitely," Clint finished. He blinked and then looked down at Natasha. "If you want to. Do you want to?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure. That's fine," Natasha answered. "We can…we can babysit."

"Thank you so much! I meant to ask you earlier this week on Monday, but I knew we were planning on coming to the Festival all of us together. I thought it'd be easier to wait," Emily said with a smile.

"It'll be our first date night since Mary Katherine was born," David added. "It's been a while, hasn't it, sweetheart?"

Emily laughed and half-shrugged. "It has. We're looking forward to it."

Clint looked ready to hop out of his shoes. "Yes! Yes, we're totally happy to watch her. It'll be fun." He looked at Natasha. "Right?"

Natasha's gaze went to Mary Katherine, who was still looking around at everything as if she couldn't believe that all of this was real, and she smiled just a little bit. "Right. It'll be fun."

After that, Clint's energy was just a bit more amplified the rest of the night. He was a completely different person as he showed Natasha the different parts of the Festival. And admittedly, Natasha enjoyed herself. The Spring Festival was fun, and when the rain started pouring down hard, a sign that meant it was time for her and Clint to go home, their leftover food and purchases in hand, she found herself feeling melancholy.

Clint drove them home and talked nonstop about everything. Natasha knew that he was excited, and she knew why. Several times she looked over at him and wondered how she'd missed seeing this side of him for so many years; honestly, she didn't know how to feel about it. One half of her loved seeing him like this, but the other half of her made her feel like she was with a stranger.

Furthermore, Clint's eagerness to babysit brought up something that'd been at the front of her mind for the past month. Technically, it'd been there for the past 10 years, but it'd made itself obnoxiously present recently, and she didn't want to address it. She barely listened to anything Clint said as they finished the drive home, and she barely paid attention to anything he did once they were back to the farmhouse.

It wasn't until they arrived back at the farmhouse that he addressed it. "Hey. Nat. You're doing that quiet thing again."

"Am I?" she asked, even though she knew that that was exactly what she'd been doing. She looked over at him and saw him intently watching her. Outside, the rain poured hard into the roof of the truck, providing a brand new soundtrack for the both of them.

"Yeah. What's up?" Clint unbuckled his seatbelt and then shifted in her direction so that he could face her better. Natasha was quiet. She could either have this conversation now, or she could forget it and have it another time. Despite how much she didn't want to talk about it, though, she knew she needed to.

"You really like kids, don't you?" she finally asked.

"Yeah," he said slowly, as if he hadn't expected that to be the question to leave her mouth. "I do."

"You're good with them. I've said it before, but…it's true. You're very good with them." Natasha's face formed a small frown, and she stared at him with a thoughtful look on her face that worried Clint.

"Thank you," Clint replied, now cautious. "Nat…what's going on?"

"Clint…" She had to say it now, or she never would. "I can't have children."

Clint's blue eyes struck her in her soul, but she refused to look away. After a few seconds, Clint blinked, and he took a deep breath, nodding. "I know."

Confused, Natasha frowned and tucked a piece of rain-soaked hair back behind her ear. "You do?"

He lowered his eyes, and he looked at the gearshift between them. "I—I never knew for sure. I mean, I suspected. After 10 years of being with you, I've picked things up along the way. For starters, I noticed you never took any birth control pills or talked about getting a shot…you never said anything about going to the doctor for an IUD or anything else. I've also done my own individual research on the Red Room and the things they did. Parts of your file are redacted, and I don't have clearance to see them, but I put two and two together."

Natasha lifted her eyebrows just a centimeter as she took a few seconds to process what Clint had just told her. "Oh. You never…you never said anything to me."

"That was your business to tell." He raised his eyes and met hers, blue meeting green against the storm. "Not mine."

"Oh." She shifted in her seat and looked out the window. "I thought it was probably time to tell you. I—I see how good you are with Mary Katherine and kids in general. Kids love you."

"You know I wouldn't change anything about you, right?" Clint leaned forward just a little bit, just enough to get her attention. "Tasha, it doesn't matter to me whether or not you can have kids. Yes, I love kids, but…" He trailed off and gave a self-deprecating laugh. "I could never be a father. The whole line of work we're in for one thing…but me as a dad? I would never change a thing about you. You're more than enough for me."

She pressed her lips together and frowned, processing his words. "So it's never bothered you."

"You're not perfect by any means, but you're the world for me," Clint said simply with an equally simple shrug. He watched her green eyes search his face, and he knew she was searching for any kind of hesitation, any kind of lie he was telling. He didn't tell her that he'd often thought about being a father. He didn't tell her he'd often wondered what their kids would have looked like had they lived in some kind of alternate universe. Instead, he told her the truth and what she needed to hear. "You're the world, Tasha."

Silently, she reached her hand out. Just as silently, he reached back and took her hand. "And you're the axis."

"I'll always be your axis." He smiled. "Is that corny? Too sappy?"

"No." Natasha smiled back, her mouth soft. "That's not the word I'd use at all."

"No?"

"No. It's perfect."


	14. Storm

**Shoutouts to patty cake rocks, Guest, Shannon K, Guest, pinoychick143, Lost it Never Had It, beverlie4055, Jo, Long Lost Letter, pengineer, Black Betty, Guest, kamarooka, and MaddieFayeth96 for reviewing!**

**Ok, I promised some sexy stuff in the opening of this chapter, so I hope y'all are ready for that =) There's also Clint and Natasha babysitting up ahead, and it'll continue into the next chapter since they still have some more stuff to go through with Mary Katherine!**

**I know I'm late in this update (I can never stick to my schedule-so sorry!) so thank you (again) for being patient with me!**

**For extra emotions, listen to "After the Storm" - Mumford & Sons. I know-I'm a giant nerd about keeping a theme =)**

**Keep letting me know what you think!**

**Enjoy! =)**

* * *

><p>Chapter 13<p>

"Ready to try running to the house?"

Natasha looked outside at the black sky that dropped torrents of rain against the truck, the house, the barn, the fields, and all the places she couldn't see. She tried to think of something smart to say, some quick, witty little response to make Clint laugh after the news she'd just dropped on him moments ago, but she couldn't think of anything. All she could think of was the first time the two of them had sat and listened to the rain together. She'd been a silent, unhappy Russian agent still adjusting to her new surrounds and a broken arm, and Clint had been a talkative, more innocent version of the man who sat beside her just then.

"Yeah," she said, settling on a short, simple answer. "We're going to get wet no matter what."

"If we can survive an alien invasion, we can survive a storm, right, Agent Romanoff?" Clint asked. Natasha gave a short, clipped nod, the way she would if she were at work.

"Affirmative, Agent Barton."

"Then let's go into the storm."

Simultaneously, the two assassins pushed the doors to the truck open and started moving towards the house, their legs picking up pace as they ran. Natasha found her hand somehow wrapped in Clint's, and she tightened her grip around his fingers to hold onto him even more. Just as she turned to look up at him, he lost his footing in the mud and slipped, falling and soaking the left side of his jeans with mud, grass, and rainwater. Natasha froze, her mouth open, and Clint looked up at her with such a shocked expression on his face that she couldn't help laughing.

"Nat—it's not—not funny—" Clint sputtered, but soon he was laughing with her, and the two of them were standing outside his farmhouse as the rain poured down on top of them with no regard for them whatsoever.

"Yes, it—oh my god—your face!" Natasha shouted over the rain's roar as she continued laughing.

"What?" Clint asked, unable to hear.

"Your face!" she shouted again, but her words were ripped away from her lips by the sounds of night rain. Laughing with her, Clint pulled himself up to his feet, and he started to look down at his jeans to see the damage done to them, but Natasha kissed him. She put her wet hands on his wet face, and she wetly kissed his wet mouth. She pulled back just a little bit to look at him. "Your face."

Now that he was wet, Clint no longer cared about trying to get to the house quickly. He was soaked, and Natasha was soaked, and there was no use in thinking that they were going to be anything _but _soaked, so he kissed her again. The rain was cool against his skin, but Natasha was warm on his lips. Even in the downpour, she was warm and represented everything he'd worked so hard for in his life. Even with her hair glued to her face and her dress stuck to her legs, she was the most stunning sight he'd ever seen.

Suddenly, she grabbed him and dragged him towards the farmhouse, moving to the stairs and only pausing to turn around and kiss him hard. She plunged her tongue into his mouth as she pulled him behind her, releasing a quick, sharp breath of a laugh when his foot caught on a stair, and he stumbled. He thought about telling her that sure, she could laugh because she was the most graceful woman in the world, but he couldn't think of another word past her name.

Her hands were all over him, and she touched and pulled and caressed every wet part of his solid form that she could find. Clint wouldn't remember how it happened, but he found himself lying on his back with his face pointed up towards the roof of the porch while Natasha straddled him. He knew he should suggest taking this inside where it was dry and warm and, well, _private_, but Natasha was kissing his neck and unbuttoning his pants, and he couldn't even breathe, let alone speak.

Natasha groaned as Clint's hands gripped her hips. Reaching between them, she yanked his zipper down and waited while he lifted his hips so she could yank the soaked fabric of his jeans and his boxers down just enough to free his already firm erection. She gripped him in her palm for just a second, and she thought she smiled when she saw Clint's eyes shut. Readjusting herself, Natasha moved over him, and then she sank down on top of him.

Clint hadn't expected to be inside her so suddenly, and he sharply cried out, his hands tightening around her hips so hard that it occurred to him in the back of his mind that he might be hurting Natasha. Her head fell back, wet blonde hair falling back across her shoulders, and she closed her eyes at the feeling of him inside her. She knew that she should have waited until they'd gotten into the house, but as she immediately set the pace and began to ride him with hard, steady movements, she knew that she couldn't have waited another second before taking him inside her.

Quietly, she moved over him without waiting for him to adjust to the sudden feeling of sex. Clint breathed and moaned underneath her, every sound being the most beautiful sound she'd ever heard in her entire life. She loved being over him like this—she loved bringing him pleasure and making him feel like this. God, she just loved _him_. She sank down onto him over and over again, and she watched his face, taking in every small detail.

Clint was far more expressive than he thought he was—or maybe she just knew him—and she always adored looking at his expressions during sex. As she rode him without apology, she watched his face go through a colorful rainbow of unmasked emotions. She saw his pleasure, his struggle, his lust—she saw him enter the primal place she knew he kept safe in the back of his mind just for her.

"Nat—Na—tash—" Clint choked, his fingers digging into the backs of her hips. He closed his eyes and groaned, deep and guttural. He couldn't catch his mind up to the rest of his body, but he found he didn't care. In everything he did, he did it with Natasha, and he would go along with her this time, too, because he trusted her to have his back and to hold him together.

Natasha moaned and pressed her hands into his shoulders. She felt herself already starting to get close, and she didn't want to hold back. Judging from Clint's loud groans and gasps, he wasn't too far off, either. His hands grabbed her through her wet dress, squeezing her thighs, her hips, anywhere he could touch. Even though he couldn't touch as much of her as he wanted to, this was perfect. All he needed was an anchor, and he found that anchor in her.

He managed to make himself focus long enough to look up at her, and he felt his breath come a little harder as he saw her moving above him, her face free of all the inhibitions she put on every day. She looked like a picture out of a dream he'd had once, and honestly, he was so far out of his head that he wouldn't have been surprised if someone told him he'd once dreamed about her before he'd even known her. Hell, he would have believed the next person who said the sky was green.

Changing her movements, Natasha started a rough grind on top of him. She no longer moved over him the way she had been—now she took him inside her as deeply as he would go, and she ground her hips over him. Clint jerked beneath her and released a sharp cry into the air, another sound that wound up being swallowed by the night and the rain. Natasha felt the orgasm she'd been going for begin to build up between her legs, and she continued moving until her climax was undeniably close.

Clint felt the change in her body, and he knew that as soon as Natasha came, he would, too. He somehow managed to force his eyes to stay open, and he locked them onto her. She looked like a wild, untamable force—she was the wind, a tornado, a hurricane, a tsunami—a storm. She was free and unfixed, and he wanted to be like her; he wanted to be with her and to be free with her. He watched her rise up faster and faster to her climax, and he watched her as she tumbled free over him, her wild voice calling out to the wild night.

She rode him through her orgasm, chasing after his for him, and Clint couldn't hold back. Within seconds, he was grasping her hips harder than he had this whole time, and he was groaning to the high heavens as his hips jerked into her. He came deep inside her, the pleasure ripping straight out from his hips and spreading throughout his entire body until he couldn't feel a damn thing. He lay on his back, his breath coming in hard, heavy waves, and it took him a few moments to realize that Natasha was stretched out over his chest. She had her face tucked into his neck and her mouth close to his collarbone. He couldn't see her expression, but he could picture it just as clearly as if he were looking at her just then.

They lay in silence for just a few more moments. The rain continued to pour down around them, completely apathetic towards the fact that they'd just fucked each other senseless on the porch of Clint's childhood home where all the gods and all the earthbound creatures could have watched them. Finally, Natasha moved to sit up just a little bit. Her face was flushed, and her eyes were still bright and glassy as she looked down at him.

"We should - -de," she said to him, but he couldn't make out the full sentence with all the noisy water crashing through the air and thundering on top of the porch's roof. However, he could piece together enough to know what she was suggesting, and he nodded. With careful, slow movements, Natasha sat up and moved over him to let him fall out of her, wincing as she did so.

"You ok?" Clint asked, trying to make his weak voice audible over the rain. Natasha smiled and nodded.

"Just fine," she said. Standing up, she smoothed down her wet dress and reached a hand down to Clint, who took it after buttoning and zipping his pants back up. He let her pull him up until he was standing, and he took a few moments to get the buzzing out of his head as all the blood rushed back to where it was supposed to be. Without saying a word, he followed her into the house and shut the door behind him, locking it and keeping the rain outside. Kind of. He and Natasha were so wet that they'd brought the rain in with them to some degree.

Natasha looked down at herself and quietly sighed. "You want first shower?"

"No, you take it," he urged. "I'll make hot drinks."

"Hot chocolate?" she asked, her voice hopeful and surprisingly child-like. Despite his exhaustion, Clint found it in himself to smile.

"Hot chocolate," he said. "With lots of marshmallows."

"I knew there was a reason I loved you."

"Yeah? Well, don't forget it."

"Oh, I won't."

* * *

><p>Twenty minutes later, after Clint had taken his shower, he came back downstairs to find Natasha sitting on the floor in a heap of pillows and blankets with the fire going. She heard him walk into the living room, and she turned over her shoulder to look at him, her mug of hot chocolate between her hands.<p>

"I thought I'd switch things up a little," she said, gesturing with her head towards the pillows and blankets.

"I like it." Clint crossed towards her and all but collapsed on top of the cozy pile. "Wow. I feel like a kid again."

"I've never done anything like this with anyone but you before," Natasha replied in a matter of fact tone. "My first time doing the pillow and blanket pile was a few years ago with you that one Christmas when we were finally able to actually spend Christmas together."

Clint looked up at her from his spot on the blankets. "That was your first time doing this?"

"Mmhmmm." She nodded. "You have a lot of firsts of mine under your belt. My first real Christmas, my first real birthday celebration…a lot of firsts."

Clint wasn't surprised to hear this from her. She'd mentioned it back during their very first Christmas together that she hadn't truly celebrated Christmas before, but they hadn't talked about it. Back then, he'd just held her a little longer and kissed her a little softer and gone about trying to make the holiday as good as possible for her.

Now that he thought about it, back then they hadn't talked much about their pasts. They'd still been new and exciting with each other, and even though they'd trusted each other, they hadn't been ready to talk about it. Over the years, Clint had watched Natasha unfold into a more comfortable, more confident version of herself. She talked more freely about things in her past, and she didn't look quite so pained when she did. She could never quite lose that darker expression in her eyes, but she'd learned how to let her stories flow.

"First Spring Festival," he added with a grin. Natasha let out a low grown, but then she laughed as she shook her head.

"I guess so," she said. "Yeah. You can take first for that, too."

"So you really did have fun?" Clint sat up and picked up his mug of hot chocolate that Natasha had set on the coffee table.

"I did. It was nice. All of the people that we got to meet and talk to…they were nice," she replied, quiet and thoughtful. Her eyes took on a more distant expression, and Clint waited for her to talk. She twisted her mouth to the side slightly and lifted her eyes to meet his. "Everyone here is so nice."

"Not everyone," Clint corrected. "But a lot of people are. There are some really lovely people here."

"For the first time in a long time…maybe _ever_...I don't feel like they're trying to get something from me. You know? They're just nice because they _are_. They're not trying to manipulate me or figure out what I know about this organization or that organization. They're just…nice."

"It's kind of a different world out here, isn't it?" Clint asked, a small smile lighting up his face.

Natasha lifted her eyebrows and nodded in agreement. "It really is. It's very different from everything I've ever known before. You're farming, I'm fighting with herbs, and we're now apparently contract babysitters."

Clint laughed, low and hearty. "We went from being deadly world assassins to babysitters."

Laughter started to bubble out of Natasha as she thought about the two of them babysitting. "How the hell did we get from that to this?"

"Oh, Jesus, I don't even know." Clint ran a hand through his hair, again reminding Natasha that he needed a haircut, and he sighed. "Well. Babysitting should be…an experience, to say the least."

"You ever babysit a baby before?" Natasha asked.

"Nope. And I assume you haven't either?"

"Your assumption is correct."

"Huh. We're really in for something, aren't we?"

"It shouldn't be that hard. I'll just Google some tips or something. I mean…she's a baby. How hard can it be?"

Natasha had no idea how she would come to regret her words.

* * *

><p>It wasn't until Emily and David had whisked out the door, leaving Mary Katherine lying on a quilt in the living room while Clint watched over her that Natasha realized just how hard it was going to be. So far, the baby hadn't done anything that required panic or know-how, but as Natasha walked back into the living room and looked down at Clint and Mary Katherine, it dawned on her that she had no idea what to do with the baby.<p>

"Someone's awake. Someone has those big beautiful eyes open, and she's just as curious as can be. Yes, she is," Clint said softly, his voice low and warm as he put his finger in Mary Katherine's tiny little hand. The baby stretched out her fingers and loosely wrapped them around his finger, and she stared at him with huge, interested eyes.

"I have no idea how you do it," Natasha said, crossing farther into the room. She lowered herself down to the floor on the other side of Mary Katherine and kept a close eye on the baby.

"Do what?" Clint asked without looking away.

"Be this natural with kids. It's a special gift. You should've included it on your SHIELD form," she said. He gave her a sharp warning look, and she rolled her eyes. "Please. She's only a few months old. She's not going to tell David and Emily what I said."

"Still. I don't want to be too careful," Clint mumbled, meriting a laugh from Natasha.

"Anyway. You didn't answer my question. How are you so good at this. Like…what do you know what to do with kids? If it were just Mary Katherine and me, I'd be staring at her, and she'd be staring at me, and neither of us would do anything," Natasha replied in a dry, humor-filled tone.

Clint laughed. "I don't know. You just…talk to them. About anything. They don't judge you. That's what's so nice about kids. Especially the little ones like this. They haven't had their minds implanted with gross stuff yet. They're just along for the ride."

"I still don't know what to do with them," Natasha deadpanned.

"Bullshit," Clint said with a snort. "When you held her that time Emily came to the house with her, you knew exactly what to do."

"That was different," Natasha protested.

"No, it wasn't. Here." Gently, Clint scooped Mary Katherine up in his arms and held her out to Natasha. "Take her."

Natasha glanced warily at him, but he nodded at her, his whole face so enthusiastic that she couldn't tell him no. Carefully, she held her arms out and let Clint pass the baby to her. Mary Katherine wriggled just slightly, but within seconds, she was comfortable and happy, still looking around her with interest.

"See? You did that just fine," Clint said softly. "Look at that. You're a natural."

"Holding a baby isn't hard. It's knowing what to _do _with it," she said, trying to ignore the soft look on his face as he looked at the both of them. "It's trying to figure out how to keep it entertained and happy and…and safe."

"Well, you're doing a damn good job of it so far." Clint grinned as he continued to watch her. "Natasha Romanoff holding a baby. Never thought I'd see the day."

"You tell anyone at SHIELD, and I'll kill you," Natasha threatened, though she smiled as she said it. Mary Katherine made a small noise, and she glanced down at the baby. "Not you. I won't kill you. I'm talking to that thing over there."

"Oh, so I'm a thing?" Clint lifted his eyebrows. "Don't confuse her."

"Well, I'm not going to lie to her."

Suddenly, the baby began to cry, and that was when Natasha realized how far in over her head she was. Panicked, she looked at Clint, who was looking at her with the same expression.

"Why's she crying?" he asked.

"I don't know!" Natasha protested. "I was hoping you'd know the answer."

"Uh…no. No, I don't know the answer. Try rocking her."

Natasha started to rock the baby, hoping that she didn't look too awkward as she did it. Mary Katherine seemed unfazed by the gentle motions, and she kept crying, her small fists bunching up. "Clint, I don't know why she's crying. Is she hungry? Did Emily say she would get hungry?"

"Emily said she fed her about an hour ago. Does she want more?" Clint asked.

"I don't know! Go look for some milk in the fridge. We might as well try. Emily said there was also a written out tentative schedule for what they do with her, so maybe that'll be of some help, too," Natasha said. Clint nodded, and he was up in a flash. Natasha continued rocking the baby, looking down at her as she cried. "Shhhh. Don't cry. We're trying to figure this out. I'm just as stressed as you are. You don't know what's going on…neither do I…we should be working together to figure out a strategy. Not opposing each other. Hmmm? What do you think?" Mary Katherine kept crying. "Ok, so maybe being a spy isn't in your future."

"Did you just try to negotiate with her?" Clint called from the kitchen.

"How did you hear that over all this commotion?" Natasha called back. "And don't you have a job to do?"

"I'm doing it—I'm doing it," Clint mumbled. Mary Katherine continued to cry, and Natasha continued to feel her stress levels rise.

"I promise that there's nothing to cry about," she said to the tiny baby. "I promise. At least not right now in your life. You've got a house and a mom and dad who love you very much. You're warm. You've got clothes on. That's enough to be happy about, right?" Mary Katherine bawled incessantly. "Right. But you can't talk. So this is your only way to communicate. So to you, there's everything to cry about. Ok. Got it."

Clint popped back into the living room. "Please tell me you weren't just analyzing her like she was the subject of an interrogation."

"You can take the spy out of the field, but you can't take the field out of the spy," Natasha said, and then she paused. "That sounded better in my head."

"Here's a bottle." Clint held it out, and Natasha took it. Natasha had never fed a baby before, but she figured it couldn't be that difficult. Carefully, she lowered the rubber nipple down and let Mary Katherine take it in her mouth. Just like magic, she went quiet, and she sucked hard on the bottle.

"Oh, wow," Natasha remarked. "I wasn't expecting that to work."

"Neither was I," Clint added. "Huh. Maybe we should make this a business. Make money off it like a bunch of high schoolers."

"I don't know. I'm already stressed about this, and we've only been here about 10 minutes," Natasha replied with a smirk. "Besides, how many people would hire us to babysit our kids?"

"Tons of people," Clint said smugly. "People love you here."

Natasha glanced up at him, finally managing to tear her eyes away from how cute Mary Katherine looked as she took care of her bottle. "You've talked to people about me?"

"_They_ have talked to _me_ about you." Clint smiled at her. "Everyone likes you. They say you're just as sweet as you can be, which came as a little surprising since you're this model-beautiful city girl. No one's said a negative thing at all to me."

"Well, they wouldn't say it to your face."

"No. But I've heard talk. Everyone loves you, Nat. You fit in well here." Clint wanted to tell her that she fit the role she was currently in right now as she held Mary Katherine and carefully fed the tiny baby. He wanted to tell her that she looked amazing with a baby in her arms and a bottle in one hand, but he didn't want to make her sad.

He'd always figured that she'd been sterile of some kind. She'd never once told him to wear a condom during sex, nor had she ever talked about getting a period, taking a nightly pill, or getting another kind of contraceptive. He'd noticed all of those things early on, and he'd researched as much as he could about the Red Room. Sure enough, he'd learned that the Red Room sterilized their girls. Natasha's file didn't include it—at least not where he had the clearance to see—but he knew that she was included in that group of sterilized girls all the same.

He would have been lying to himself if he said that he'd never thought about kids. Sure, he'd thought about kids a lot. Granted, he knew that with the life he led, it was too dangerous to have kids. God, his life made it far too dangerous. But still. That didn't mean that he couldn't think about it from time to time. He never dwelled on the thought of kids, nor did he think about it very often, but kids had definitely crossed his mind.

As he watched Natasha hold Mary Katherine, he briefly allowed himself to wonder what their kids would have looked like. Would they have inherited Natasha's red hair and his blue eyes? Or would they have gotten his blond hair and her green eyes? Maybe they would have had a mixture of both. He didn't know, and he never would. And that was ok with him. It truly was. Kids were out of the question, even with SHIELD destroyed.

"Got something on your mind?" Natasha asked, breaking him out of his silent thoughts. Clint blinked a few times, and then he smiled.

"No," he said. "Well, yeah, but nothing important. Just thinking about how to change a diaper."

"Oh. Yeah. That."

_I will always remember this image of you, _Clint thought.

_I will always remember the life we could've had over the one we currently have_, his mind whispered.

_I will always choose the version of our lives that includes you._


End file.
